


With a Dragonborn Like This...

by ms_katonic



Series: Cicero Dragonborn [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, BDSM, Blades - Skyrim, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Crack, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dark Brotherhood - Skyrim, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Female Character In Command, Femdom, Het, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Thieves Guild, Thieves Guild - Skyrim, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:24:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 298,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Instead of an anonymous prisoner at Helgen, another Dragonborn has arisen.  The Greybeards have called Cicero to High Hrothgar.  What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jester Rising

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a [prompt on the Skyrim Kink Meme](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/3288.html?thread=1112280#t1112280) to substitute the usual fan-made Dragonborn with any NPC. Two different people then seconded everyone's favourite murdering jester from the Dark Brotherhood, and my idle mind started plotting how that would actually work. This is the result. I can only apologise for any resulting trauma or nightmares or rewritten headcanon.
> 
> Spoilers for the Dark Brotherhood and Main Quests on Skyrim, also various Daedric and Side Quests (see chapters list for the names of the ones in question), and a little input from the Thieves Guild and eventually the College (but their actual questlines are unlikely to be involved).
> 
> All Skyrim/Elder Scrolls content is copyright Bethesda Software. I own nothing and am doing this purely for my own amusement.
> 
> Warnings for an eventual Cicero/Delphine main pairing (this is the only scenario in which this makes any sense whatsoever), which will almost certainly turn a little kinky, what with me being unable to convincingly write Cicero as anything but a subby little deviant in bed. (Humble Cicero lives to serve? I bet you do...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't happy with the original version of this chapter, not at all. So I have rewritten it with lots of new material! The actual plot is the same, it just has extra scenes with Cicero and Delphine getting to know each other. Enjoy!

To say that poor, wretched Cicero was having a more wretched day than usual was something of an understatement. It had snowed ever since leaving Dawnstar, there had been spiders and bandits (not that poor Cicero had minded the bandits, no, the Fool of Hearts had been all too pleased to introduce them to his daggers) and even one unfortunate thief who had mistakenly thought a sole jester would be easy prey.

 

“And if the thief should choose to sneak, why then I'll make the night bird shriek!” Cicero had sung as he'd slit the thief's throat before he'd even got part way through threatening him.

 

No, all that had been the easy part. Then the snow had abated as he'd neared Whiterun, right as one of the rear axles on the cart had snapped.

 

“Stupid shoddy Nord workmanship,” Cicero had muttered, examining the remains of his back wheel. “Cicero should never have trusted that blacksmith in Dawnstar, no he should not. When you are settled in your new home, Mother, Cicero shall return and slit his belly open for you, maybe while his wife watches. And then maybe Cicero shall try his skills at midwifery too, deliver her child the quick way, hmm?” The thought made him giggle – it would be an interesting career change, that. But no. Mother came first, as always, and murdering the blacksmith who'd sold him this excuse for a cart in the first place would not help him get her to the Falkreath Sanctuary any sooner.

 

Still, guards were approaching, maybe they would help Cicero. Surely the nice Whiterun guards would lend a hand to a poor traveller just trying to bring his mother home. Even though the Dunmer leading them looked anything but friendly.

 

And then all thoughts of the Whiterun guards flew out of Cicero's head as a gust of wind nearly knocked him to his feet, before the ground shook and several tons worth of dragon crashed down next to him.

 

Cicero was not a coward, no, but his kills were usually rather smaller and not nearly as scaly, not even the Argonians.

 

“Do not hurt poor Cicero,” the jester whimpered. “I can sing and dance and caper for you! Or kill your enemies. Only tell poor Cicero who needs to die and I will send them to the Void without any need for fire and teeth and claw to get involved.”

 

The dragon growled and Cicero flung himself to the floor, gibbering fearfully. At least until it roared and a jet of flame engulfed the cart, roasting the horse alive and reducing the cart's wooden frame to cinders. The Night Mother's coffin promptly crashed to the ground, smoke rising off it. Cicero gasped, and his fragile grip on reality snapped.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

When Irileth and her men finally ventured near the dragon, she could honestly say she'd never expected this. The dragon was thrashing around screaming and covered in blood, its eyeballs shredded and black ichor and blood streaming out of them. A grey stone coffin was lying discarded amid the charred remains of a horse and cart, and strangest of all, a small man dressed as a jester was clinging to the dragon's horns, stabbing the back of its head with an ebony dagger and screaming about how the dragon had killed his poor mother. Well. Singing at it in rhyming couplets, if you wanted to be precise, which was even more disturbing.

 

“Send my mother to the Void? I'll see your lizard soul destroyed!” the jester howled.

 

All her guards were looking at her, all thinking 'now what?' Irileth had to admit she had absolutely no idea where to go with this. Still, for all that he wasn't even armoured properly, the little jester seemed to be winning.

 

“Dragon burns and dragon chars, I'll slit its throat beneath the stars!” the jester chanted, pulling out his dagger before slamming it into the spot between the dragon's eyes. The dragon howled in pain, before collapsing into the ground, dead. None of the guards had so much as raised a bow. The jester pulled his dagger out, wiped the blade, before tumbling off the dragon's head as its body began to burn. Ignoring the guards completely, the jester scrambled over to the stone coffin and began to howl piteously, weeping as he implored his mother to speak to him, tell him she was alright.

 

“Commander, what should we do?” one of the guards asked her. “Do we bring him with us?”

 

“After what he did to that dragon, I'd hate to have to force him,” another muttered.

 

“We won't force him,” said Irileth, approaching as carefully as she could. It might have been many years since she left Morrowind, but she was still a Dunmer and although Sheogorath was one of the Bad Daedra, it was still a noted principle among Dunmer that His children were to be treated with respect and consideration. Irileth might not understand much of what was going on, but there was no doubt in her mind that this deadly little clown was one such.

 

Then things got even stranger as a white cloud rose up from the burning dragon, spiralling skywards into a vortex before being pulled sharply off to the left – towards the jester. The glowing cloud surrounded the little fool before being absorbed into him and disappearing. Behind her, all the guardsmen gasped, one of them even dropping his sword in shock.

 

“Dragonborn!” one gasped.

 

“Dragonborn?” Irileth asked. Great, more superstitious Nord legends. As if she'd not heard enough of those since the first reports of dragon sightings came flooding in.

 

“A mortal with the blood of a dragon,” the guard replied, awestruck. “One who can kill a dragon and take its soul and its power after. Talos was one. And so is this man, it seems.”

 

Irileth wasn't sure whether to believe this or not, but something strange was definitely happening. Time to take stock of the situation and try and restore some sort of order.

 

“Dragonborn or not, the Jarl needs to know about this and maybe Farengar will have some answers. Assuming he and that Delphine woman have finished going over that Dragonstone tablet she retrieved for him anyway. Stand back and cover me, I'm going to try and talk to him. Azura help me.”

 

Dropping to kneel by the jester, who was still sobbing over the coffin, Irileth touched his shoulder.

 

“Excuse me sir, is everything alright?”

 

“Mother, mother,” the jester cried. “The dragon has killed you, and poor Cicero could do nothing. Nothing!”

 

“Killing a dragon on your own is hardly nothing,” said Irileth. “I'm sorry about your mother, but that coffin looks sturdy and if you're transporting her remains, was she not already dead?”

 

“It is not the same,” Cicero cried. “Oh Mother, why will you not talk to your devoted Cicero, whyyyyy?” He broke off into another howl.

 

“Friend Cicero,” Irileth began, “I see the dragon has destroyed your cart. I can send one of my men to Whiterun to fetch another for you, so that we can take you and your mother to the city. There maybe you can have food and rest, and we can lay your mother to rest in the Hall of the Dead. Would that help? For you have done us a service by destroying that dragon, it would be the least we could do.”

 

“The Hall of the Dead? Arkay's temple?” Cicero laughed bitterly. “Noooo, no, not Arkay's priests for the Mother, no! The Sanctuary is where Cicero was taking her, far to the south, where she can take her rightful place among her Family.”

 

“Well, if you want to take her to your family tomb instead, I might be able to arrange that too,” said Irileth. “But you can hardly leave her here by the road. Come with us to Whiterun, and we shall see what can be done.”

 

Nodding tearfully, Cicero got to his feet and gave them no further trouble, unless you counted crying out to the men not to hurt his dear Mother as they loaded her onto the new cart from Whiterun, and humming softly all the way back to the city. Irileth could cope with the singing, as long as no one got stabbed. All was going rather well until they got to the city gates, the shadow of the Throat of the World falling over them. Then...

 

“ _DOVAHKIIN!!!!”_ The Shout roared out over the tundra, causing all in its wake to cover their ears. Everyone, that is, except Cicero, who sat bolt upright, joy all over his face.

 

“Mother?” he cried. “Mother! You have spoken to poor, devoted, patient Cicero at long last. At long last! Oh Mother, Mother, Cicero lives to hear your words! But... Dovahkiin? Cicero is but a poor fool of little understanding, and he knows nothing of this Dovahkiin. Dovahkiin? Who is Dovahkiin? Where is Dovahkiin? Who does Dovahkiin want Cicero to kill? Mother, you must tell Cicero this if you wish him to help you.”

 

The guard at the reins of the carriage looked nonplussed. “Well, you're Dovahkiin. You're the Dragonborn. That was the Greybeards calling you to their monastery at High Hrothgar so you can fulfil your destiny.”

 

“High Hrothgar!” Cicero practically squealed. “Cicero has never heard of it, but if Mother says to meet the contact there, then Cicero shall oblige. We must go immediately!” He reached for the reins and things could have turned nasty had Irileth not seen and intervened.

 

“Cicero my friend, of course you shall go to High Hrothgar. But not yet. It is high on the Throat of the World, at the top of the 7000 Steps, you cannot surely think of taking your Mother up all those? Come into Whiterun, look, we are nearly there. We shall see your Mother is able to rest at Dragonsreach in safety while you go, and then when you return you can take her wherever you wish.” Carefully, she took the harnesses from Cicero's hands, all the time talking to him gently as one would to a small child.

 

Cicero hesitated before giggling and letting her hand the reins back to the relieved driver.

 

“Of course, of course, foolish Cicero! There is no need for Mother to come with Cicero, not now he knows where he must go. Cicero can set out in the morning.”

 

“That's right,” said Irileth soothingly. “Cicero can set out in the morning.” Inwardly, she shuddered. If this Cicero truly was the Dragonborn of legend, surely they were all doomed.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Balgruuf's reaction had been much the same on laying eyes on Cicero.

 

“That's the Dragonborn?” he'd grunted. “By the Eight. Proventus! I'm going to be in my quarters. See I'm not disturbed for the rest of the day, and send up the Honningbrew Reserve. Yes, all of it. I have a feeling I'll need it.”

 

He'd stormed out, leaving Irileth alone with Farengar Secret-Fire and the adventurer known only as Delphine, who'd been helping Farengar transcribe the Dragonstone she'd brought him. The Mother's coffin was now set up in Farengar's study, and Cicero, apparently oblivious to the Jarl's disdain, was capering about quite happily.

 

“Dragon palace, Dragonsreach, all of Whiterun sprawls beneath. But should a dragon bear its teeth, Cicero its life shall thief!” the little jester chanted, picking up a couple of soul gems off Farengar's desk as he did so and beginning to juggle with them.

 

“Can't you stop him doing that?” Farengar asked plaintively. Irileth shook her head.

 

“Best leave him be. He's not sane or particularly stable, and we saw him kill a dragon by himself with a dagger and wearing the clothes you see him in now. He's a son of Sheogorath, it's better to let him have his little eccentricities – it'll stave off the bigger ones.”

 

“Useful to know,” Delphine murmured, eyeing the jester up with interest. So this was what a Dragonborn looked like. Not what she'd expected. She'd expected a warrior, a big burly Nord or at least a heavily armed warrior. Not this short madman in a jester outfit with no weapon but the ebony knife at his waist. Still, if you took him out of the jester outfit and put him in normal clothes, he wouldn't be bad looking, and she was sure there were muscles under that outfit. And while his eyes were darting all over the place and he didn't seem to be able to keep still for ten seconds at a time, there was a certain intelligent curiosity there. He was looking at every single thing in the room and she could see his mind categorising everything – alchemy lab, books, soul gems, enchanter, court mage, guards, housecarl – as his eyes would flicker over each thing, analyse it, assign it a place and then move on, not returning. Except to her. His gaze kept returning to only two things – one the coffin containing his mother's remains, his expression combining both love and worry. The second was her. Always his eyes kept coming back to her, and the expression in them said only one thing. _Who are you? What are you? You don't belong here, I can't work you out, who are you??_

 

Well, it had been a long time since she'd really belonged anywhere, so she couldn't fault him for wondering. Still, it seemed she'd caught his interest. A good thing. It would make it so much easier to do her job if he was already intrigued. Assuming he really was Dragonborn, of course. Still, Irileth wasn't easily deceived, and if he really had killed a dragon on his own with just that dagger... well, someone with that kind of prowess would be useful regardless.

 

“Killed it on his own, you say?”

 

Irileth nodded. “Yes, and took its soul after, or at least that's what the men tell me. It just looked like light to me.”

 

“Interesting,” said Delphine thoughtfully. “And the Greybeards called him on the way back.”

 

“Looks that way,” said Irileth. She eyed Delphine with suspicion. “What's it to you anyway?”

 

“Irileth, trust her,” said Farengar. “She's an old contact of mine, and she knows more about dragons than anyone else I know. She can help us. Besides,” and here he lowered his voice, “if we play this right, she can take that fool off our hands for us. I for one don't see a problem with that. NO, Cicero or whatever your name is, leave the spell tomes alone!”

 

Too late. Cicero had picked up a Destruction tome and before anyone could stop him, the tome was gone and so was a sizeable portion of Farengar's map of Skyrim, lost to Cicero's newly-won knowledge of the Flames spell.

 

Cicero giggled, blushing slightly. “Cicero did not know books did that! Cicero will have to be more careful. Cicero has hardly done magic before! Cicero could be a mage! Maybe Archmage! A master of Destruction magic! Lots of new ways to kill people!” He giggled even more, flushed with his new-found achievement. Farengar for his part looked as if he'd dearly like to demonstrate a few new ways to kill people on Cicero himself.

 

“Maybe you should just sit down and leave the books alone for now, hmm?” said Irileth, wishing she'd never got herself mixed up in this. “After all, if you'd been facing the other way, that could have been your mother with a hole burnt through her, couldn't it?”

 

Cicero gasped, sinking into a chair and sitting on his hands. “Mother! Burnt! Oh nonono! Cicero will not touch anything else. Cicero will be good. Cicero will not harm the Mother, no.”

 

“Fond of his mother, is he?” Delphine asked, her curiosity piqued. She looked the coffin up and down. Now that wasn't a modern style of coffin, not at all. No one buried their dead like that any more. Whoever was in there, she couldn't be his real mother. Could be insanity... but she was beginning to wonder if this Cicero was as mad as he looked. The fixation was obsessive, of course, but if it wasn't his actual mother... Delphine's Blades training from years ago came back to her as she recalled one organisation whose leader was referred to as mother, an organisation whose members were very skilled in the art of dagger-wielding.

 

The most sensible thing at this point would be to make her excuses and leave, let Farengar and Irileth deal with this mysterious new Dragonborn. But once a Blade, always a Blade, and Delphine was no coward. She was also just a little bored of the quiet life of an innkeeper. No, she couldn't walk away. So what if he was a Dark Brotherhood assassin? If he could kill a dragon and take its soul, she was quite willing to overlook that little detail. She turned to address Cicero directly.

 

“Cicero, did Irileth tell you that you need to go to High Hrothgar to meet the Greybeards?”

 

Cicero darted over at her words, grinning as he finally let his eyes fall on her directly, leaning over the desk as he gazed up at her. She'd estimate his age as late thirties, not a fresh-faced youth by any means – but she had the feeling that once he'd been a very accomplished seducer, if the way he was smiling up at her was any indication. She made a mental note to keep her wits about her. That smile was dangerous.

 

“Yes, yes!” Cicero giggled. “She said Cicero was Dovahkiin, that Mother had called her Cicero and wanted him to go to High Hrothgar. But Mother cannot come, not up 7000 Steps, no. So Cicero will go alone, and leave Mother behind.” At this, nervousness crept into his voice. “Mother will be safe, won't she? Outside a Sanctuary, without her Cicero to guard her? Irileth has made promises but Cicero worries...”

 

Of course he would, no Dark Brotherhood assassin would want to leave the Night Mother's remains unattended for long. Delphine sensed a weakness and took full advantage.

 

“Well now, Cicero. As it happens, I have a secret place she can rest, where no one else can get to. I can keep her there for you while you go to High Hrothgar – if you do something for me.”

 

Cicero raised both eyebrows, clearly surprised by her generosity.

 

“You would do that?” he asked in wonder. “For a stranger? The kindly adventurer would open her home to humble Cicero?”

 

“Delphine,” she told him. “My name's Delphine. I'm an innkeeper, I'm used to having strangers in my home. But I'm hoping we won't be strangers for long. You're Dragonborn, apparently. Wouldn't be right to leave you stranded in your hour of need, would it now?”

 

Cicero looked up at her and for one moment, his dark eyes stared straight up into her blue ones, his brow furrowed as he looked at her, really looked at her, far more intently than anyone had in a very long time. Delphine began to wonder if this had been a good idea. Then Cicero laughed and sat upright.

 

“Sanctuary-giver to the Mother, yes, yes, Cicero will do whatever you like!” Cicero giggled. “Does it involve sneaking and stabbing? Please say yes!”

 

In her previous life as a Blade, she would have been honour-bound to kill him, of that she was sure. She was now certain who she was dealing with - the constant references to the Mother and to Sanctuaries gave it away. All trainees in the Blades learnt what the Dark Brotherhood was – while not as big a threat as the Thalmor, they were still the best assassins in Tamriel and it was wise to know the enemy. To have the Night Mother in her grasp and her apparently Dragonborn Keeper at her beck and call – no, Delphine really could not pass this up. Time for a little deception.

 

“There'll be death aplenty, Cicero. But first, you need to go to High Hrothgar and meet the Greybeards. Before you do that though, know that they'll almost certainly ask you to travel to the tomb Ustengrav and retrieve something for them. So why don't you and I go and get it, then I can watch Mother for you while you visit the Greybeards. How does that sound?”

 

Cicero whooped in delight, leaping off the table and dancing around the room. “An adventure! Cicero's going on an adventure! With his new Sanctuary-giver! And Mother shall have a new home, and there shall be killings and stabbings for everyone!”

 

“Stabbings?” said Irileth warily. Respect for the insane only went so far after all.

 

“We'll only kill things that deserve it,” said Delphine hastily. “The Mother's named you Dragonborn, Cicero, that means she wants you to kill dragons.”

 

“Dragons!” Cicero gasped, pirouetting up to her. He didn't seem remotely afraid of the prospect of killing dragons, in fact he looked quite pleased. “A challenge for out of practice Cicero. Cicero will need armour then, or Cicero might get burned. And his dagger will need to be sharp. And arrows! To catch a dragon in flight needs bow and arrows. Cicero cannot throw a dagger at a flying dragon, not if he wishes to see it again, no.”

 

“Whatever you need,” Delphine promised. Insane he might be, but clearly he was by no means incapable. He'd do. Time to get him some basic equipment. “We'll swing by Warmaiden's on the way out and head for my home in Riverwood tonight. Once the Mother's settled, we can head out to Ustengrav in the morning.” With a hand on Cicero's shoulder, she led him out of the room, shooting a parting wink at Farengar.

 

“See, I told you she'd take him off our hands,” said Farengar, breathing a sigh of relief and gathering the spell tomes and soul gems that Cicero had knocked everywhere.

 

“You did,” said Irileth. Several things about that last conversation had left her wary and uneasy and she wasn't sure why. All the same, she'd be glad to get the new Dovahkiin out of the city quickly. Snapping orders at the guards, she set about making arrangements to get the strange coffin shipped to Riverwood. The sooner it and its creepy guardian were out of Whiterun, the better.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Cicero watched nervously as the guards manhandled the coffin down the Dragonsreach steps to where that Dunmer Irileth had promised a cart would be waiting to take it to Riverwood. Cicero had no idea where that was but his new friend Delphine had assured him it wasn't far.

 

Delphine. Now here was a mystery. Claimed to be an innkeeper, looked like a mercenary adventurer for hire, seemed to know a bit about this Dragonborn business, offering assistance and hospitality... and seeming to know rather more about his precious cargo than he was happy with. Still, he'd not sensed hostile intent or dislike in her. She'd been appraising him carefully, and there was something predatory about her, yes, but that hadn't been hate in her eyes. That had been pleasure, he was sure. Carefully reined in pleasure, but delight and anticipation nonetheless. Odd. Very odd. Still, he needed help and she was offering. What the price was going to be, he had no idea, but he didn't have a lot of options right now. Should all go wrong of course, he could always stab her and run, but he couldn't flee far with Mother and too many people had seen them leave together. He would need to be careful, ensure he was over the border in Falkreath before anyone suspected anything. But something told him not to worry, she wasn't an enemy. That was good, he wouldn't actually enjoy stabbing her. She was nice. Kind. Gentle. Helpful to poor stranded Cicero. Pretty. Very pretty indeed, especially given she was clearly older than him. He'd always liked older women. Maybe her ulterior motive was nothing other than a desire to seduce a younger man into her bed.

 

 _Foolish Cicero. You are Keeper now, you have no time for that sort of frivolity._ It was true, he had a job to do and a Falkreath Sanctuary to find. He couldn't be running off on adventures and climbing mountains and hunting dragons just because an attractive woman told him to.

 

He wanted to though. It had been years since his last contract. Years since his last lover. Years alone in the dark, alone with Mother, alone alone alone alone alone alone...

 

“Cicero?” Delphine's voice cut through, alarmed. “Are you alright?”

 

Curses. He'd forgotten how to keep thoughts in his head again, hadn't he?

 

“Yes, yes, perfectly!” he laughed, smiling at her and hoping she didn't think he was completely insane. “Cicero was just thinking how long his journey's been and how glad he is you're helping him.”

 

She didn't look convinced all was well, but she did look a little sorry for him.

 

“That's quite all right, Cicero,” she said gently, patting his back. “I can hardly leave the Dragonborn of legend stranded and alone, can I?” She leaned forward, lowering her voice as she murmured in his ear. “Not when he's got the Night Mother in his charge.”

 

She knew. Sweet Mother, she knew. Cicero's dagger was in his hands in seconds, ready to kill to protect his lady if he had to. But no. Too many people. Too many guards. Not here. He put the knife away, pleased to see the uncertainty in Delphine's eyes as she glanced nervously at it.

 

“Who are you?” he said softly. “What do you want with us? How – how did you...?”

 

“How did I know?” said Delphine, her voice pitched low to avoid eavesdroppers. “How do you think, Cicero.”

 

Good question. There were books, but not common ones and they all conflicted with each other, and Delphine didn't look like a scholar. But there was one way she might know, and it might also explain why her first impulse had been to help him, not turn him away.

 

“Are you... one of us?”

 

No response but a smile. Cicero felt his heart skip. It was true! She was a fellow assassin, a Dark Sister in hiding, maybe even one of Astrid's people. She'd recognised the Night Mother and was helping the Keeper home. Cicero could barely contain himself, ecstatic at his good fortune.

 

“Sister, sister, you're a sister!” he squealed, flinging his arms around her, holding her tight. He heard her gasp, but he didn't care, she was a sister, a friend, an ally! He could trust her, he could!

 

“Where is your Sanctuary?” he whispered. “Are you with Falkreath?”

 

“Not here,” Delphine whispered back, disentangling herself from him. “When we get home. I don't really have a Sanctuary any more, Cicero. I work alone now. It's better that way. Safer.”

 

Cicero knew how that felt. He squeezed her hand in sympathy. Wayrest then, had to be, he knew all the other former members of the Brotherhood. She was a Breton after all, she must have been based there and escaped when the corsairs came. She must have decided it was safer to go into hiding than seek out the rest of the Brotherhood. A sad decision – Cicero could never have done that. After losing Bruma, he'd not even considered doing anything other than seeking out his siblings in Cheydinhal. He'd been heartbroken and griefstricken and in sore need of comfort. What else could he have done but go find it? Delphine had clearly decided otherwise. Had she not needed comfort? Or had she been afraid she'd bring trouble down on everyone else? Sounded like it. His heart went out to her. Poor lonely Delphine. Well, not any more. He'd look after her, find out why she'd been so worried, see if he could take her to Falkreath after all this Dragonborn business was out of the way. It would be nice to have a friend there. Sithis knew he didn't have many.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Finally, they made it back to Riverwood. The Jarl's men had helped them unload the giant crate containing the coffin and left it in Delphine's bedroom before leaving them to it. Delphine had waved them off and tipped them for their trouble, before leaving Orgnar to watch the bar while she disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

 

Cicero was waiting, sitting on her bed in his brand new leather armour that she'd bought for him, looking rather despondent. He'd been fairly accepting of the need to have more things than just his motley to wear, and liked his new armour and his new sword and new bow and arrows very much. Maybe they weren't the most expensive out there, but they would do for now. She just wished he would do something about the jester hat. The rest of his motley he'd changed out of and packed away but still he clung to that damn hat like his soul depended on it. In the end she'd had no choice but to let it go. As Irileth said, best to let him have his little eccentricities if it kept the bigger problems at bay.

 

“Well, we made it,” she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. “How are you doing?”

 

A slight smile flickered on Cicero's face. “This – this would be it? Sister, when you said you had a safe place, Cicero was thinking it would be a little more secure than this.”

 

Delphine produced her key to her secret cellar. She'd never shown it to anyone before, not since she'd found it and outfitted it with its secret door and all its supplies. She just hoped Cicero was impressed. Opening the wardrobe, she twisted the key and pulled back the false panel to reveal the stairs. One magelight later and she beckoned Cicero to follow her down.

 

She didn't look as she lit the sconces, just listened as Cicero caught his breath, clearly impressed.

 

“You have all this... down here?”

 

Delphine nodded, grinning. “Yes. Hauled a workbench down here and built most of it myself. If we move those bales of straw and a few other things, maybe put the weapons in that chest instead of on the rack, do you think Mother's coffin would fit down here?”

 

“Does anyone know about this place?” Cicero breathed, staring in wonder.

 

“No, that's the beauty of it,” Delphine grinned. “The storeroom was here when I moved in, but not in use. So I changed the door into a hidden one, took that room for my own bedroom, set up a workbench down here and spent months acquiring raw materials to build all this. No one knows this is even here except me... and now you.”

 

Cicero had his hands to his face as he giggled, then giggled some more, then burst out laughing.

 

“It's perfect. _It's perfect!_ ” he cackled, skipping over to her and pulling her into a hug before letting her go and racing up the stairs. “Come, come, let us get Mother down here.”

 

It was a tough job but they managed it eventually. In the end, Delphine had suggested taking the Night Mother out of the coffin and moving that first by pushing it downstairs then taking her down, which Cicero had agreed to as long as she didn't try and look at the Night Mother. Delphine had fetched a blanket and left Cicero to do what he had to with the coffin's contents. She'd tried not to look at the wrapped remains lying on her bed as she re-entered. Cicero had also unpacked a lot of other things which had been in the coffin too – a chest full of oils, some old rags, and some big, heavy books which he waved her away from furiously when she tried to take a look.

 

“They are only Cicero's Keeping Tomes,” he'd said nervously. “Nothing interesting in there, just guidance on how to Keep Mother.” Delphine had wisely let it go and concentrated on helping him with the empty coffin.

 

Finally, all was done, the coffin was in place, the Night Mother secured into it and all Cicero's worldly goods brought down to join it. Delphine sat back on her table, watching Cicero stare at the coffin with pride.

 

“We did it, Mother,” he whispered. “Got you to safety. You can stay here for a few days, rest. Cicero will be gone for a little while but he will return, he promises, and then we can go to your new home! Your new crypt!”

 

Evil he might be, crazy he definitely was, but when he was like this, he was oddly cute. Delphine fought back the urge to smile. Best to at least try and keep things business-like, although she'd worked out he definitely responded better to a bit of kindness than anything else.

 

“You're going to be all right down here?” Delphine asked. She spent a fair bit of time down here herself, but she never slept here. Too dark and dank and questions might be asked if she was found not in her bed when she was supposed to be.

 

“Cicero will be fine,” he said softly, turning to face her. “Sister, I – thank you!” Seconds later he was in her arms, clinging on to her with his head resting on her shoulder, sighing happily as he snuggled in to her. Delphine hadn't had this much physical contact with anyone in quite some time. She guessed the same was true for him, and maybe he needed company more than she did. She rubbed his back awkwardly, hoping he didn't read too much into it.

 

“It's alright,” she told him. “You're safe now. I'll help you.”

 

Cicero glanced up, smiling at her. “So are you, my sister. You have been alone too, haven't you? Alone since Wayrest fell. Alone in the world, afraid to find your brothers and sisters in case trouble followed you there. Is that not so?”

 

Delphine closed her eyes. Yes, Wayrest, sacked by corsairs in the pay of the Thalmor, and her family of birth murdered in the process. So there'd been a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary there as well that had been destroyed. Interesting, and very very convenient.

 

“There's something you should know, Cicero,” said Delphine softly. “I'm hiding out here for a reason. I'm on a Thalmor wanted list. The corsairs that sacked Wayrest, I think the Thalmor had a hand in it, and I think they were looking for me or some clue on how to find me. I wasn't in the city at the time, I was here in Skyrim but when I heard, I knew. So I laid low for a bit and ended up here. I couldn't seek anyone else out, couldn't risk leading the Thalmor to anyone else or the Thalmor finding me through them. I'm taking a risk with you. But if you really are Dragonborn, and you have the Night Mother too, then the risk is worth it.”

 

Cicero's grip tightened.

 

“Cicero thought as much,” he murmured. “But Delphine need not fear, the Thalmor are no match for sly Cicero, no. Maybe they had a hand in destroying other Sanctuaries, maybe they killed other brothers and sisters of Cicero's. But Cicero survived and so will you while he is with you.” He looked up, hopeful. “There is a Sanctuary in Falkreath, led by a woman called Astrid. Cicero was going there with Mother – it is the last surviving Sanctuary in all Tamriel. Cicero was taking Mother there in the hope he might find a Listener among them, a new leader for the Brotherhood, to hear the Night Mother's words and do her will. It is not Cicero, at least he didn't think it was, not until he heard the Dovahkiin call. Now he has to wonder. So he will follow the call for now, go to Ustengrav with sweet Delphine, then up the 7000 Steps to see what these Greybeards want. Then... well, Cicero will need to tend to Mother again and head on to Falkreath to find a new Listener. Delphine could come too?”

 

Oh no. Absolutely not, it was one thing letting the new Dragonborn assassin believe she was a fellow member of his order so as to win his trust. It was quite another to go with him to their Sanctuary and join up.

 

“I don't think that would be a good idea, Cicero,” said Delphine, trying to keep her voice steady and hope the horror wasn't too obvious. “I wouldn't want the Thalmor to start chasing tales of a Dragonborn, find out I was involved and come after us.”

 

Cicero smirked at that, polite disbelief writ large all over his face. “Cicero doesn't think that's the real reason you don't want to go. Cicero thinks you'd rather cut your own hand off than go to Falkreath Sanctuary. It is all right, sister. Cicero understands. Cicero doesn't want to go either. Cicero knows they're heretics, abandoning the Tenets, doing what they want instead of what Mother wants. That's how they've survived. You ran so as not bring harm to your Family. They have walked away because they no longer believe.” Cicero patted her cheek, smiling knowingly at her as if they shared some dark secret. “But you and I, we still believe, don't we? Cicero tends to Mother, and you have taken us in and helped us because you still believe in the Night Mother even after all these years on your own. Cicero understands. Cicero knows. Cicero... Cicero just never thought he would meet another like him.”

 

 _I am nothing like you,_ Delphine wanted to scream, wanting to push him away. Except the truth was, she did know how that felt. Always running and hiding, constantly on the watch, running an inn because it was the focus for gossip and rumour, becoming the pillar of a Nord community with plenty of helpful villagers always ready to warn her of Thalmor patrols or suspicious characters so she could make herself scarce and if necessary, intercept and dispose. Known by all of Riverwood but never able to get close to them or be honest about herself. Not alone... but lonely. How ironic, that the person who she'd let get closer than anyone in years was a psychopathic lunatic who'd clearly also been alone too long. An even more worrying development was that this felt nice, this being held and touched business. She'd almost forgotten what it was like. Definitely time to get some professional distance back up – she was fairly certain Blades were not meant to get involved with their Dragonborns.

 

“We need to get to Ustengrav first,” she told him, gently peeling his fingers from her and pushing him back, safely at arms length once more. “Then get you to High Hrothgar. After that... who knows. One thing at a time, hmm? Now, can I get you anything? Food, drink? You'll need a bedroll, but I've got a few spare.”

 

“You're too kind,” Cicero purred, backing away and turning his attention back to the Night Mother. “Cicero is well for now. Some supper later would be nice, but for now, no, I need nothing. Nothing other than to tend to Mother in private and ensure she is all right.”

 

Delphine was more than happy to leave him to it. She left him to do whatever he needed to. Time to return to being an innkeeper again.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dawn broke and Delphine was woken by the hinges on her door squeaking, and a muffled curse at the noise. Rubbing her eyes, she opened them to see a fully dressed Cicero trying to tiptoe out. He glanced up and grinned, embarrassed.

 

“Cicero is very sorry,” he babbled. “Cicero didn't know the door would squeak like that. He didn't mean to wake sweet Delphine from her slumber.”

 

“It's fine,” she said sleepily, brushing her hair into shape. “The hinges do that on purpose – I don't like the idea of people being able to sneak into my room while I'm asleep. Or out of it, but that particular scenario doesn't happen often. Did you need something? What time is it?”

 

“Early,” Cicero replied. “But daylight. Cicero recalls you saying you wanted an early start so he is up and about and attending to his business. He was going to bring you breakfast!”

 

Delphine had no idea what his culinary skills were like, but it was a sweet, if completely unnecessary gesture.

 

“You really don't have to do that,” she told him. Cicero stared at his feet, scuffing at the floor.

 

“Cicero wanted to,” he said softly. “As a way of saying thank you.”

 

Which was lovely, but breakfast in bed was a little too intimate for her liking.

 

“Tell you what, let me get up and then we can have breakfast together,” she said. “I'll tell you where everything is and you can make it if you like.”

 

That cheered Cicero up considerably, and she found herself treated to eggs and bacon and toasted bread with milk, the eggs scrambled with garlic and herbs Cyrodiil style. Dear gods, but it was delicious and if he'd not been an obsessive lunatic with a mission, she'd have considered hiring him as a cook right there.

 

“You can cook for me again any time,” she told him as she finished the meal. Cicero giggled at that.

 

“Come to Falkreath and Cicero will happily feed you,” he purred, every bit the practised flirt. Talos, she really needed to watch herself. He was a dangerous man, and not just because of the murderous insanity. The seductiveness he could turn on and off like a tap was worse than the violent tendencies, not least because part of her, the part that hadn't had anyone touch her in years and desperately wanted someone to make her feel special, would happily give in to it. Talos, but she needed to get laid. With someone who wasn't Cicero.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A day travelling, a day spent dealing with beasts and bandits but thankfully no dragons. It turned out Cicero's martial skills were every bit as good as Irileth had said – he was an excellent shot with the bow and his skills with blades were like nothing Delphine had ever seen. She wasn't sure whether it was the precision of the strikes, or the speed, or the blood everywhere or the laughter as he struck, but she'd not forget seeing him in action in a hurry. She didn't know whether to be impressed or appalled. All the same, it was good to have him at her back. Many times his arrows would be taking down foes before she'd even spotted them. Unfortunately for her, that included one member of a Thalmor patrol that she'd been hoping to slip past. One of the elven warriors collapsed, a poisoned arrow in her throat and Cicero sprang out from the rock he'd sneaked behind, sword in one hand, dagger in the other, shouting “For the Night Mother!” as he pounced on the wizard. Delphine had sworn and dropped back to take on the other soldier and hopefully stop the Dragonborn dying horribly. She needn't have worried. Cicero had darted and weaved and got in under the Thalmor Justiciar's reach before he could really react and soon had him lying in a pool of blood.

 

Five minutes later, and it was all over with three dead Thalmor lying in the road and a dancing jester in the midst of it all. He skipped up to her, grinning from ear to ear.

 

“Thalmor paid the corsairs to destroy Wayrest, so Cicero has killed them for his sweet Delphine. Is Delphine pleased?” he purred.

 

“You're a damn liability, Dragonborn,” she told him sternly, quashing the guilt as his face fell. “But a talented one,” she felt obliged to admit. “Three less Thalmor in the world is no bad thing, I suppose. Come on, we need to get to Morthal for tonight.”

 

That had cheered Cicero up and he'd been quite happy from then on. They'd made it to Morthal and Cicero had skipped up to the bar, requesting a room for him and sweet Delphine. Needless to say, Jonna the innkeeper completely misinterpreted the situation and got them a double room. Cicero had leaned against the doorframe, smirking as if he'd intended this all along. Delphine definitely needed to watch herself with this one.

 

“I'm sorry, Jonna, he's not actually my... look, how busy are you likely to be tonight?”

 

“Take a look around,” Jonna had snorted. “They're not exactly beating down my door. Another ten septims, I got no problem renting you two single rooms, or this one and a single. Apologies for the misunderstanding.”

 

“Oh, it's not your fault,” said Delphine, glaring at Cicero, who still looked utterly unrepentant. “Why don't I keep this room, and Cicero can have one of the singles, hmm?”

 

Jonna was fine with that, took the extra septims and went back to the bar. Delphine closed the door behind her and turned on Cicero, grabbing the front of his armour.

 

“Don't you even think about pulling a stunt like that again, do you hear me?” she growled. Cicero gasped, but that wasn't fear in his eyes, far from it. Oh gods, he must like this sort of treatment. Delphine let him go like she'd been burned.

 

“Get your things, go to the room across the hall. You're staying there tonight, and if you're anywhere near my bed during the night, you will be losing fingers, understand?”

 

Cicero nodded quickly, grabbed his things and fairly sprinted across the inn, shutting himself in his room. He emerged forty-five minutes later in his motley, looking a little dishevelled and flushed but otherwise perfectly cheerful and pleased to see her. He even bought her dinner, being charm itself and toning down the flirty behaviour a little. Good. Very good. She could do without him poking and teasing and flirting and wriggling and squealing and doting on her and... Damn, but she needed to find a lover. Just a fling. Just to get laid, get it out of her system. Then she could go back to normal, work with Cicero as Blade and Dragonborn without her libido flaring up every five minutes.

 

She definitely wasn't interested in Cicero. Absolutely not at all.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Ustengrav loomed up ahead in the early morning swamp mists. Two bandits were fighting a necromancer who'd managed to raise one of their colleagues.

 

“Well, what do you think?” Delphine murmured from where Cicero and she were hiding. “Wait for them to fight and turn on the victor? Or intervene now before the mage wins and raises all of them?”

 

Cicero just grinned, dipping his arrows in poison and taking aim.

 

“Don't worry, sister,” he purred. “Cicero can deal with this.”

 

One bowshot later and the mage was staggering to the ground, bleeding, while the bandits finished him off. Then Cicero was breaking cover, zigzagging to avoid their arrows as he took on the two bandits by himself. A minute later, and it was all over, just bodies and blood and a grinning Cicero. Delphine felt just a little sickened by it all. It wasn't even the blood, just the sheer speed and the fact that Cicero didn't even look tired.

 

It was a pattern repeated throughout Ustengrav. Arrows from the shadows brought down most enemies, sneaking and stabbing dealt with a few more and for those that remained, Cicero had no trouble dispatching the ones that came his way. Delphine likewise had little trouble dealing with the few Cicero hadn't made it to. It was the most exciting thing she'd done in years. True, there'd been Bleak Falls Barrow, but it hadn't been so much fun alone. Truth be told, she could watch Cicero fight all day. He moved like a dancer, twisting this way and that, blades flashing as he carved up the opposition. She'd never seen anything quite like it, and whether it was Dark Brotherhood training or the gift of the dragon blood, she had no idea, but maybe the world wasn't quite as doomed as everyone in Dragonsreach had thought.

 

Dragonborn he certainly was. They'd found a Word Wall, just curved rock with ancient Nord carvings to her eyes, just like the one in Bleak Falls Barrow. Cicero had stared at one particular word and asked why it was glowing and what did 'Feim' mean anyway? Then he'd gasped and told her the dragon had gone, the one in his head.

 

She'd told him to try Shouting and he'd gone ethereal, staring down at himself in amazement. It hadn't lasted long, but it had proved he could Shout. He'd looked a bit worried by the fact, the poor thing.

 

“It's not a bad thing,” she'd whispered as she'd cuddled him, hoping to reassure him. “It's a gift. Means you're special.”

 

Cicero had shivered in her arms as he clutched on to her. He'd not even taken the obvious flirting opportunity her words had presented, and he'd been quiet as he followed her back up to the bridge.

 

The puzzle stones had given them a bit of trouble but eventually they'd worked out that if she stood by the farthest one, he could activate the second and run for the gate, just making it past before it shut. Of course that had left her stuck on the other side. For a heartstopping moment, she'd thought he'd go on and leave her, but he found a release on the other side that got it open.

 

Flame jets and spiders next, and finally a huge chamber where dragon statues arose from the water and the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller was there on top of the tomb. Needless to say, Draugr burst out as soon as Cicero picked it up.

 

A few minutes of fierce fighting later and it was done. Cicero sagged against the altar, gasping for breath and she did likewise.

 

“We got it,” she gasped. “It's really here!”

 

“We did!” Cicero laughed, holding up and spinning it in his hand, before putting it away. He looked up, eyes meeting hers, expression deadly serious for once, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. He didn't and that was definitely not disappointment she was feeling, not at all. Instead, he just hugged her.

 

“Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you! Sweet sister Delphine, Cicero cannot thank you enough!”

 

“Whatever for?” she asked, surprised. Cicero let her go, eyes shining as he laughed.

 

“For bringing me here! For letting poor Cicero kill all these things! Cicero hasn't had so much fun in years!” He smiled at her, that sweet, evil smile that unsettled her just as much as it made her want to see it again. “Cicero will never forget this or you, sweetest of sisters. Thank you. And if you ever need Cicero's help in any more dangerous ruins, you need only ask.”

 

“You're welcome,” Delphine replied. Well, at least she had a willing and compliant Dragonborn at her service. That was something. He might be wedded to the Night Mother, but it seemed at least some portion of his loyalty now belonged to her too.

 

If that made her smile, it was only because that would make hunting dragons a lot easier, and not because that smile of his was something she could watch all day.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“You will be all right while I'm gone, won't you?” Cicero asked, sounding a little plaintive. “Won't you? Sweet Night Mother?”

 

He'd packed his things, got everything ready, secured the belongings he wasn't taking near the Night Mother's coffin. All that remained was for him to actually leave. Delphine watched him stroking the coffin door, looking miserable at the thought of going. He'd looked a bit nervous on leaving the coffin the first time, but this seemed more so. She guessed it wasn't just the leaving, it was the leaving her with someone else.

 

“Delphine will look after you,” Cicero said softly. “She is a Sister, she believes in the Dread Father. You can trust her. And... and if you need anything... you could talk to her? If you will not talk to humble Cicero, will you not talk to Delphine? She could listen to you? She listened to poor Cicero, she would listen for you.”

 

“Cicero,” said Delphine softly. “The day's moving on. You need to go soon.”

 

Cicero sighed and nodded. He kissed the coffin, checked the door was locked, whispered “Goodbye Mother” to it and followed Delphine out. She secured the door behind her and escorted him outside.

 

“Go safe, Cicero,” she told him. “You know the way, right?”

 

“Take the south road, follow the signs to Helgen, round the town, east over the pass then follow the signs to Ivarstead. Up the steps from there,” Cicero repeated. She'd made him memorise the instructions the night before. He'd looked pensive all evening and he'd been worse this morning. Now he was staring up at her, forlorn and bereft.

 

“Come with me?” he whispered. “They'd like you!”

 

“I don't think they would somehow,” said Delphine, being all too aware of the history the Blades and Greybeards had had in the past. The Greybeards had never entirely forgiven Talos for throwing his lot in with the Blades and forging an Empire. She wasn't going to stir that whole mess up again until she had to. “It's you they asked for, Cicero. You need to do this alone. You're Dragonborn, not me.”

 

Cicero nodded, still looking sad. “Cicero shall miss you,” he said softly. “And Mother of course. But when he comes back, he'll take Mother with him. Not you though.”

 

“Not me,” said Delphine softly. She was feeling a little sad herself. Devious and manipulative he might be, violent and insane definitely, but he'd been genuinely sweet and affectionate to her, and it was a long time since anyone had been that. She'd miss him too. “But if all goes well in Falkreath, if you find your Listener... they could look after Mother and you could come and visit. Maybe go on a few more adventures with me, hmm?”

 

Cicero had smiled, still looking sad. “Cicero would like that,” he said. “If it goes well.” One last hug, and then he'd turned and left, walking away, glancing over his shoulder and waving. She'd watched until he left the village and retreated into the inn, busying herself with work and chores for the next few hours until she could be sure Cicero was definitely gone and not likely to return for anything. Then she told Orgnar to hold down the bar before retreating into her cellar. Time to take advantage of Cicero's absence to plot her next move while Cicero was off with the Greybeards. Talos only knew what Arngeir would make of Cicero, but at least it got him off her back for a while. Leaving her alone with the latest update from Farengar on the Dragonstone's secrets, and the Night Mother's coffin.

 

The letter from Farengar could wait for now. Delphine eyed up the coffin, curious. The leader of the Dark Brotherhood was here, right here in her inn. And Cicero was far away and not expected back for at least a week. No one to stop her having a look inside...

 

Unable to resist, she opened the coffin and promptly leapt back, repressing a scream. A woman's mummified remains stood slumped before her. It was true, it was really true, what her Blades trainers had taught her. The Night Mother was the corpse of a long-dead Sithis worshipper and founder of the Brotherhood. She'd heard it had been destroyed years ago when the Brotherhood had been wiped out of Cyrodiil. But no, Cicero had kept it – _her –_ safe all these years. He'd talked about it on the way to Morthal, how for months, maybe years, he'd believed himself the last Dark Brother alive, same as she thought she was the last Blade. Then he'd recalled details of another cell remaining in Falkreath and had finally made contact. He'd been on his way there with the Night Mother when the dragon struck.

 

Delphine shivered. All true, it was all true. He was really a Dark Brotherhood assassin, and now a Dragonborn too. Truly she was playing a dangerous game, letting him believe she too was a Brotherhood member in hiding – but what choice did she have? She needed a Dragonborn, as surely as he needed a Dark Brotherhood family to belong to. If acquiring one meant pretending to be the other... so be it.

 

She traced a finger down the Night Mother's crinkled cheek. “The turns my life takes at times,” Delphine murmured. She stepped back and prepared to close the coffin, when it happened. The Night Mother glowed.

 

“ _You... you're the one...”_ a feminine voice rasped in her head.

 

“What is this?” Delphine whispered, reaching for her sword. Was Cicero's madness catching?

 

“ _You're the one...”_ the voice repeated itself. _“You're the Listener.”_

 

“ _Listener??”_ Delphine cried, memories of long ago discussions of the Dark Brotherhood's hierarchy coming flooding back. Very little was known and even less agreed on, but virtually all accounts agreed that the order was headed by a figure called the Night Mother, who conveyed her wishes to the most senior living member of the organisation – the Listener. “I'm not even in the Dark Brotherhood, how can I be Listener?!”

 

“ _But you are dark,”_ the Night Mother crooned. “ _So many have you sent to their deaths. So long have you been alone in the darkness, you have the touch of Sithis upon you. And you have willingly and knowingly given Sanctuary to my Keeper and I, when you did not have to and none other would have.”_

 

“Pretending,” Delphine whispered. “I was just pretending... This isn't real, this can't be happening. This... this is insane!”

 

“ _Pretender you were, but real this has become. And a child has called to their Mother. Take my Keeper to Volunruud, speak with Amaund Motierre there. Accept his gold, eliminate the target. So begins a contract bound in blood. And remember these, the Binding Words, for my Keeper will not believe you otherwise. Darkness rises when silence dies.”_

 

The glowing stopped. Delphine sank back into her chair, stunned. Had she really just been appointed leader of the Dark Brotherhood? Not only that, it appeared she'd been given a contract to fulfil.

 

Head in her hands, Delphine could only rest her head on the desk and weep. This was not part of the plan, dammit! But Delphine was Delphine, last of the Blades, and now apparently last of the Dark Brotherhood along with Cicero and possibly this other cell in Falkreath (not that she had any intention of contacting them in the slightest). And Delphine had not got so far by being either weak or unable to adapt. No, this had not been in the plan... but the plan could be changed. Pulling a notebook and her map of Skyrim to her, Delphine began to plan for Cicero's return. A whole new world of possibilities had just opened up.

 


	2. The Silence Has Been Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero journeys to High Hrothgar, but not all he learns is to his liking...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for what is almost but not actually pr0n - just a bit of tying-up, threatening and Cicero being, well, Cicero.

Cicero danced up the last of the steps to High Hrothgar, sliding his daggers into his sleeves. Of course, he now had a shiny steel sword as well and some nice Orcish arrows for his nice Orcish bow to kill things with, thanks to an impromptu visit to Ivarstead barrow, but he still liked his dual daggers for maximum bloodletting. He'd also learnt a new Shout too, and the dragon he'd met in the Helgen Pass had provided the soul to fuel it.

 

“Cicero is getting good at this Dovahkiin business, yes, yes,” Cicero murmured to himself. It was almost as much fun as slitting throats, and if the gems and septims he'd acquired from Shroud Hearth Barrow, not to mention the sapphire claw the grateful innkeeper had rewarded him with, were anything to go by, much more profitable.

 

“Cicero has money now, yes, and the ability to Shout beasts into submission, yes yes. Perhaps Cicero shall buy a house for himself and the Mother, wear fine clothes like a Jarl, hmm?” Cicero purred, eminently pleased with himself so far. “Cicero shall have a big castle like Dragonsreach, yes he shall, and a throne next to the Mother, and he shall learn Shouting and Magic, and nice Delphine can come to visit. Yes, Delphine has been nice to poor Cicero and Mother. We like Delphine, she can come and stay with us whenever she wants, help us with stabbing people.”

 

Of course, both Delphine and the Mother were far away in Riverwood, and Cicero was on his own, halfway up a mountain. Gone were the warmth and cheer of the Vilemyr Inn, where Wilhelm the innkeeper had been kind and grateful and treated poor Cicero as if he was normal, and where pretty, pretty Lynly had laughed and danced with him after he'd told her her lute sounded like bells in his head.

 

Now however he was staring at the forbidding bulk of the monastery with its firm black doors, with the snow starting to fall and no sign of life inside. Cicero shivered, wondering if the Mother had really meant for him to come here.

 

“This is no place for jesters,” Cicero muttered. “There is no laughter or singing here, no pretty bard or warm Black-Briar mead. Nothing for Cicero, no. Just cold comfort and loneliness. Cicero... Cicero has been lonely enough.”

 

He put his hands in his pockets, and his fingers curled around the Horn Delphine had insisted he bring. “It belonged to their founder,” she'd explained. “They'll want you to fetch it – it'll save so much time if you can just hand it to them. All I ask is that you don't tell them you know me.”

 

“Do they not like you?” Cicero had asked, wide-eyed. “Does kindhearted Delphine want her loyal Cicero to kill them for her? Shave their Grey Beards off and keep going?”

 

“No!” Delphine had cried. “Er... no. Just go in, give them the Horn, find out what you can about being Dragonborn. And ask if they know anything about the dragons coming back.”

 

Cicero steeled himself and walked up to the door. Kind Delphine was hoping for answers about dragons. So loyal Cicero would go in, hand the Horn over and ask about dragons. Job done. It was just that most of Cicero's previous jobs rarely involved actually having to talk to the target... Opening the door, he walked in before he could lose his nerve, slinking into the shadows out of habit. Maybe if he could hide and watch first, it would help.

 

There were four of them, grouped in the main hallway, standing around with arms folded or kneeling on the floor in contemplation. All men, all appropriately grey-bearded, clad in hooded black robes that hid their faces. They didn't seem to have noticed him yet. Licking his lips, his mouth suddenly unaccountably dry, Cicero crept forward, hoping to circle around behind them. Such a quiet, dismal place. Cicero was half tempted, despite his nerves, to burst out singing and dancing, liven things up a bit. Sithis knew this place could do with it. And yet, something inside was stopping him, some feeling that it just wouldn't be right.

 

One of the Greybeards had got to his feet and was staring at the door, frowning. Clearly he'd heard the door open, but could not see Cicero anywhere. Cicero smiled, repressing a giggle. No one saw Cicero if he did not wish them to.

 

Then the Greybeard whispered.

 

“ _Laas Yah Nir!_ ” Cicero felt a chill go down his spine as he heard the words, a little shiver of power, as if a dragon had stealthily landed behind him and was breathing down the back of his neck. Slowly, impossibly, the Greybeard turned around and stared right at Cicero.

 

“Welcome, stranger,” said the Greybeard calmly. “Step forward into the light and greet us as is proper for a guest. We do not receive many visitors here but we have not forgotten the laws of hospitality. No guest under our roof will suffer harm at our hands. But be wary, stranger, for if it is harm you mean to do us, you will not find us easy prey.”

 

“You can see Cicero?” Cicero managed to force the words out.

 

“I know where you are, stranger,” came the reply. “I am Brother Arngeir of the Greybeards. Do you have business with us, friend?”

 

Shaking, Cicero got to his feet and stepped forward, feeling immensely vulnerable, shorn of both his sneaking skills and his usual ability to caper his way out of things. Was this what sanity felt like? He couldn't remember, but if it was, he knew he didn't like it.

 

“Cicero is here at your request, kind sirs,” said Cicero quietly. “Cicero is Dragonborn. Cicero was told by everyone he needed to come to High Hrothgar. So Cicero has come, but Cicero does not know what to do next.”

 

Arngeir's eyes widened a fraction, but his stance relaxed.

 

“So you are the Dovahkiin,” he said, marvelling. “And you have come at last. Greetings then, Dovahkiin. Be welcome.”

 

The other three Greybeards got to their feet and bowed. Cicero, not sure exactly how to respond, bowed in turn, before giving in and dancing a little on the spot jig.

 

“Cicero thanks you,” he giggled. “Cicero does not normally get such treatment when he sneaks into people's houses, no.”

 

“There is no need for the Dragonborn to sneak into High Hrothgar,” said Arngeir with a touch of reproof. “If, that is, you truly are the Dragonborn of legend.” Behind him, Brother Einarth signed to Borri that he personally suspected otherwise. Borri just nodded.

 

“Cicero has killed dragons,” said Cicero, pulling his shoulders back to stand at his full height – not that that was really saying a lot, especially not in front of four Nords who all topped six foot in height. Still, he would do what he could with what he had. “Cicero has shot them and stabbed them and brought them down, nasty, scaly flying things. Cicero has taken their souls and Cicero can Shout now. But he mostly doesn't. Cicero has manners, Cicero was taught not to raise his voice. Cicero is not a noisy, brutish Nord, no.”

 

“The Dragon blood is not limited to Nords, although few have been able to chart its progress,” said Arngeir. “With no dragons, those who might have been Dragonborn could never come into their own. But they have come and so have you. Come, Cicero Dragonborn. Overcome your reticence and show your Voice.”

 

“My... Voice?” Cicero had not realised he would be required to actually prove anything. “But... Cicero only knows two Shouts, and one only works on beasts.”

 

“Use the other then,” said Arngeir patiently. “I assure you, do not fear harming us, we are all capable of withstanding the power of the Thu'um.”

 

Cicero's first impulse was to gabble about how Cicero would never harm kind Arngeir, not even if the Mother told him to, not that she would, she had sent him here to... well, Cicero was not sure, but there must be a reason. Now he was here, he was beginning to realise that Arngeir did not seem like the type to have enemies he wanted killing. Indeed, from the moment he'd crept through the door, he'd felt... something, some power, he didn't know what. But the souls of the dragons he'd killed, somehow they had left a mark, and here that mark was becoming just a bit harder to ignore, as if there was an actual dragon in his head, and it was watching him. Smiling at him. Laughing at him with those big teeth. Cicero's fingers flexed on his dagger hilts, and he whirled round, half expecting to see one watching from a corner. But there was nothing there.

 

“No dragon,” Cicero whispered. “No dragon there, only the one in poor Cicero's head. And now they want Cicero to speak like one, bringing the dragon closer! Oh, Arngeir does not know what he asks! But Cicero will do it. Cicero will do it to prove himself, to get answers for kind Delphine. _Feim!_ ”

 

The Shout rippled out, and as Cicero felt his body fade, he felt the power course through him, fierce dragon power, feeling for all the world like a dragon had wrapped itself around him, wings shielding him as claws gently gripped his flesh. Once again, he shivered. Fragile, insignificant Cicero had never felt so vulnerable as when he used his Shouts. Vulnerable and powerful at the same time... because when he Shouted, he didn't feel like Cicero any more.

 

Arngeir watched, approving.

 

“One with the Thu'um, who we did not teach. Such a thing has not happened in centuries, if not longer.”

 

“Arngeir is pleased? Cicero did well?” Cicero rasped, wishing his body would hurry up and solidify, and that the strange urge to stretch wings he didn't have and leap off a cliff to soar on the breeze would go away. Cicero preferred the ground, thank you very much.

 

“You did well indeed,” said Arngeir, impressed despite his misgivings about this strange new Dragonborn. “Come, we shall teach you new Shouts. Let us see if you can truly learn the tongue of the dragons.”

 

Cicero actually squealed at this, dancing on the spot and hastening over to where a Greybeard called Wulfgar had cast a new Thu'um on the floor for him to learn. Two in fact, Fus and Ro of a Shout called Unrelenting Force. Cicero wasted no time in learning them both and preened happily as Arngeir exclaimed how remarkable it was for him to have picked this up so fast when it normally took years of training. Next it was out in the courtyard where Cicero got taught how to use the first word of Whirlwind Sprint. He used it once to get through the gates before they shut... and then again to travel to the other end of the courtyard... and back... and again... and again until Arngeir finally resorted to Unrelenting Force to get him to stand still.

 

“Cicero was enjoying that one,” Cicero pouted. “Cicero has so few pleasures in life.” It had been almost like flying, except without the ground disappearing from under you. If Cicero had been given more to introspection, or indeed if his mind hadn't been riven with the cracks and scars of a thousand nights of loneliness, he might have been concerned at how accustomed he was becoming to the draconian presence that drifted into his mind as he Shouted. However, this was Cicero and his attention span had never been great when he'd been sane. Madness had not helped.

 

“Undoubtedly,” said Arngeir, hints of strain creeping into his outwardly patient demeanour. “However, there is one final task you will need to complete before we can proclaim you Dragonborn. A test of skill, bravery and cunning we will need you to perform.”

 

“Cicero has all three of those,” Cicero said, doing a forward roll that ended in him leaping to his feet with a bow and a flourish. “What does nice Master Arngeir wish Cicero to do for him? Simply tell humble Cicero who he wishes to die and it shall be done.”

 

“Die- no one is to die, young Cicero!” said Arngeir, folding his arms as he began to wonder just who on earth this new Dragonborn had been before. “The Way of the Voice is a way of peace, not to be used as – as some assassin's tool!”

 

Cicero froze mid-caper. “No – no killing? Cicero is very disappointed. So if he has no enemies needing their belly opened, what does Master Arngeir need?”

 

“Simply to go to the Ustengrav ruins in Hjaalmarch and retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller,” said Arngeir. “Nothing more than that! I imagine it may be dangerous and you may need to fight, but you won't need to resort to cold-blooded murder! Stay with the Way of the Voice, Cicero. Meditate, ponder the Words of Power, unlock your potential, but there is no need to kill. You can do better than that.”

 

Cicero opened his mouth to protest that no, he really couldn't, he'd spent most of his years training to be the best, the very best, at precisely that and had no intention of changing jobs now. But something told him Arngeir would not understand. Arngeir was no client of the Dark Brotherhood, Cicero could see that now. So why in the name of Sithis had the Night Mother called him here? He did not know, but they wanted the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, so the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller he would give them.

 

“Is this the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller that Arngeir is after?” said Cicero, producing it and handing it over. “Cicero found it while he was travelling in Hjaalmarch, it looks like it could be...”

 

Stunned, Arngeir took it from him, showing it to his equally amazed brothers.

 

“This – this is it, Cicero, the very thing. But how, how did you know...?” Arngeir stopped, eyes narrowing and a dawning realisation coming into them. “Delphine, you spoke of knowing a Delphine earlier. It is a common enough Breton name, I thought nothing of it. But you spoke of her wanting answers, and there is one Delphine out there who knows of us, knows of the Dragonborn and would know we'd ask you for this. Delphine of the Blades. Cicero, are you working with the Blades? The truth now, Dragonborn!”

 

“Blades? Blades?” Cicero squeaked, inwardly cursing himself for being a fool and letting Delphine's name slip. “Cicero knows nothing of the Blades, except the shiny ones he carries with him. Cicero knows a Delphine, but she's...” Cicero managed to stop himself saying _part of the Dark Brotherhood_ in time. Because not only would betraying her and his order make things worse, a certain dark thought was creeping into his mind. It was slowly occurring to him that possibly, just possibly, he'd been mistaken. Not even entirely mistaken – _lied to_. Delphine had never at any point said she was from the Brotherhood. Sure, she'd talked like she'd known more about them than any non-member should, she'd known who the Night Mother was without Cicero having to say a word and she'd been friendly, so very friendly and helpful to lonely Cicero. He'd assumed she was a fellow assassin, especially when he'd seen her fight. But she had never actually said the words herself. And now here was Arngeir claiming she was a Blade, one of the hated Blades who had protected the Imperial family and claimed the lives of so many of his brethren over the years. A Blade, he'd been tricked and duped by a Blade to who knew what end, and she had the Mother, _oh Sithis she had the Mother_. He had to get back there, he had to.

 

“A friend,” said Cicero, the strange dragon calm coming back and letting him speak the words even as they left a taste in his mouth. “Delphine has been a kind and helpful friend who is caring for Cicero's dear Mother while Cicero comes here. So she knew you would want the Horn from hardworking Cicero and helped him find it first, what of it?”

 

“What of it?” Arngeir snapped, his calm falling for the first time since Cicero had seen him. “The Blades are warriors, Cicero, creatures of war who care little for peace, because in a world of peace, there would be little need of them. They seek to use the Voice and the Dragonborn that wields it for their own ends. For war and rulership, of dominion over others. They took the first Dragonborns and used them to forge an empire, and look how things have come to pass! There have been good emperors and times of peace, but there have also been terrible ones and destructive wars. Cicero, if you join the Blades, they will make of you a weapon, a weapon terrible and deadly. A weapon to rule the world and become worse than any dragon. Cicero, I beg you to reconsider your alliance with her. Collect your Mother, put distance between you and Delphine, and join us in following the Way of the Voice. Peace, not war, Dragonborn.”

 

A vision appeared in Cicero's mind of collecting the Night Mother, bringing her here somehow, installing her in a small bedroom here, laying down his weapons and spending the rest of his life here, learning the Thu'um, meditating and learning peace, lulling the dragon in his blood to sleep. There was a temptation there, he could see. No more fear, no more worry, just peace for the rest of his life. It was tempting.

 

It was also deathly boring. Had he not spent enough time trapped in a small, dark room with the Mother? Had he not had enough of enforced peace, unable to hunt, unable to kill? Arngeir, for all his kind words, was too late. Cicero did not need forging into a weapon. Cicero already was one. Plenty of time for meditating in the darkness when he was dead. Still there was one promise he could make.

 

“Cicero sees the truth in wise Arngeir's words,” he said, bowing. “Cicero will cut off all ties to lying Delphine and take his Mother to a safer place. Then maybe one day Cicero will see kind Arngeir again.”

 

Arngeir relaxed, the ghost of a smile playing on his face. “That is well, Dragonborn. I do not expect you to join fully our life of contemplation – the dragon blood does not easily permit a life of rest and quiet. But cutting ties with the Blades is a good start. Be your own man, Dragonborn and choose your own path.”

 

“Cicero will do that,” Cicero promised as he followed them inside. “Cicero will cut his ties and go his own way.” Cicero would indeed. Cicero would cut other things too...

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Delphine woke with a start, eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom around her. Something was wrong though. It was quiet, too quiet for the only inn in Riverwood, even in the early hours of the morning. She was lying face down, and it seemed someone was tying her hands behind her back.

 

She tried to move, but her captor pulled the knots tight and pounced, his full weight pressing her down and a knee shoved between her legs, making her cry out.

 

“Works better on men, that one,” a voice murmured from just behind her right ear. “But no matter, they all squeal the same in the end.” Delphine felt her heart sink. Cicero. Cicero, who had gone off to the Greybeards all kind Delphine this and pretty Delphine that, and Cicero would do anything his generous Delphine wanted of him and did she wish him to kill anyone today? And now he was back and assaulting her in her bed? Either this was some new madness, or the game was up and he'd found out from the Greybeards who she really was. Neither was good news.

 

“Cicero,” she began, “What is this? What do you want?”

 

She felt the cold metal tip of a dagger press into her cheek.

 

“Cicero went to the Greybeards as Delphine asked, and Cicero got answers,” came the response. “They know very little about why the dragons are coming back, but they knew much indeed about the Thu'um... and about the Blades.”

 

Delphine winced. So he knew. This was not good, not good at all. The sworn Imperial bodyguards and the Dark Brotherhood had had an uneasy relationship at best.

 

“Cicero is not pleased at being lied to,” Cicero continued, pushing the knife in a little deeper. Delphine gasped as it broke the skin and blood trickled down her cheek. “So Cicero has brought a blade for a Blade, and Cicero will be encouraging them to get friendlier as night goes on. Cicero has locked the door of your inn and drugged your bartender friend so we will have plenty of privacy.”

 

Delphine closed her eyes. She could get through this. Just until morning, until someone found the inn locked and realised something was up. She'd been trained to withstand torture and interrogation and honestly, this wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened. She would survive this. Of course, previous interrogators had been mostly sane.

 

“Cicero, I don't mean you any harm,” said Delphine, hoping he'd at least listen. “I don't care that you're in the Dark Brotherhood. If you want to keep on carrying out contract killings, I don't care as long as you don't get arrested or killed in the process. You're Dragonborn, Cicero, and before the Dragonborns became Emperors, the Blades were sworn to protect and serve the Dragonborns simply because they were the ultimate dragonslayers. I can do the same for you, but you need to trust me and let me go.”

 

“Trust?” Cicero spat, twisting his dagger. “Cicero has very little time left for trust. Cicero trusts his brothers and sisters in darkness, but they are all gone, and Delphine is not a true sister. Delphine has other brothers and sisters and they hunted Cicero's family.”

 

“Not any more,” Delphine growled. “The Thalmor killed most of my comrades. I'm the last, Cicero, same as you're almost the last of your dark family. I'm not sworn to protect the Emperor any more, that role has moved on. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but you're not the only one with enemies! I don't have a lot of time left for trust either.”

 

“Does Cicero look like a Thalmor to you?” said Cicero scornfully.

 

“No,” Delphine admitted. “But I would not put it past the Thalmor to hire the Dark Brotherhood to track me down either.”

 

“Thalmor would not hire Dark Brotherhood,” said Cicero, laughing. “Sharp-eared Thalmor do their own killing, they have no need of us.” He leaned closer in to Delphine, and to her horror, licked up the blood that was still trickling down her cheek. “Cicero can do his own killing too, even dragons. Cicero has his own blades and they do not lie to him or let him down. Cicero does not need Delphine.”

 

Damn. Truth was, he might even be right. He could survive quite well on his own, or perhaps he'd go in search of that other Dark Brotherhood cell. There was no shortage of work for a freelance assassin for hire if Cicero chose to go down that route. But what use was a Blade with no Dragonborn to protect? However, Delphine could thank the Divines for one trump card. Cicero was no ordinary mercenary killer, but part of the Brotherhood, and the Dark Brotherhood was nothing without the Night Mother and her Listener.

 

“You need me more than you think, child of the Night Mother,” Delphine gasped, close to hysteria. “She spoke to me, Cicero. Said I had the touch of Sithis on me. Said I'd been alone in the dark so long, I'd become part of it. She named me Listener, Cicero.”

 

“Listener? _Listener???_ ” Cicero screeched. The knife was gone and Cicero had leapt off her, prancing about the room as if possessed. “How, how can you be Listener? You are not even in the Brotherhood!! All these lonely years, Cicero has cared for the Mother, loved her, protected her, killed those who would disrespect and defile her, given everything up for her! And nothing, not a word has she said to him! Not until Cicero killed that dragon and even that, it turns out, was not her but the Greybeards!”

 

A cold feeling of dread settled on Delphine's heart. “Cicero, please, tell me you didn't kill the Greybeards...”

 

Cicero laughed bitterly. “No, no, Cicero did not kill kind Arngeir and his brothers. Cicero will not be joining them at that cold monastery, Cicero prefers life and music and dancing and good cheer too much for that. But Cicero did promise to cut ties with the Blades, and Cicero shall keep his promise.” His eyes flashed in the gloom as a cold, cruel smile crossed his face. “Cicero has been a fool. Cicero does not believe you are really Listener. Delphine is playing a joke on gullible Cicero, claiming to be Listener so he'll do as she says. No more!” He flicked his daggers into his hands and advanced, face twisted in hate. Delphine's heart began to race and for possibly the first time since her youth, began to truly panic.

 

“No, it's true, Cicero, please believe me, she gave me a contract,” Delphine begged, tongue running away with her. “I'm to go with you to the ruins at Volunruud, where we're to meet a contact called Amaund Motierre. She said we're to accept his gold, eliminate the target, so begins a contract bound in blood. And she said... she said the Binding Words. Darkness rises when silence dies!” She stared at Cicero, praying to someone, anyone, any of the Divines, even the Daedra, even the Dread Lord Sithis himself, to spare her this time. _Don't let him kill me, Sithis, I'll serve you as your Listener if you let me live this time..._

 

Somewhere in the distance, she seemed to hear laughter and a voice saying _“Done!”_ Before she could even wonder who she'd just pledged her soul to, she realised it was working. Cicero was slowly lowering his daggers in wonder, sheathing them.

 

“Those are the words,” he whispered. “Those are the words that the Night Mother seals her contracts with, calls her Listener with. Words known only to the Speakers and to Cicero as Keeper so that he might know the true Listener when they arose.” He shook his head. “But it cannot be, Delphine is surely not truly Listener, not someone outside the Brotherhood, no. How do I know Delphine can be trusted, and did not torture the words out of a Speaker years before?”

 

“You don't,” said Delphine. She was not out of this just yet, but something was telling her things had edged just that little bit in her favour. “Just as even if you release me now, I won't be able to trust that you won't decide to stab me as I sleep just because you can. But if you come to Volunruud with me, we can see if this contact is really there and what he wants. If it's a genuine contract, will you believe me then?”

 

“If,” Cicero repeated. “Such a big word, for one so little!” However, he was smiling a little at the prospect of an actual contract. “Very well, Cicero shall release Delphine and check on Mother, and tomorrow we will go to Volunruud to meet the contact. If the contract is genuine, Cicero shall believe Delphine and claim her as Listener. But if there is no contact, or if it is a set-up, Cicero shall kill Delphine before she even knows he has drawn a blade.”

 

“Done,” Delphine gasped, as Cicero kept his word and cut her free. Inwardly, she could only shiver. Her future had just turned on its head, and there was no road from here on that could possibly end well.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Volunruud is _cold._ ” Cicero muttered to himself. “Cicero does not like it, no.”

 

“Didn't you spend a year hiding out in Dawnstar?” Delphine asked. “Wasn't that cold too?”

 

“Does not count,” said Cicero, dancing on one spot to keep the cold at bay. “We were in the Sanctuary. It was underground, warm. Not freezing like this.”

 

“All of north-east Skyrim's like this,” Delphine said, approaching the stone ruins that loomed ahead in the darkness. “Divines help you if you have to see a contract through in Winterhold.”

 

“Cicero misses Cyrodiil,” Cicero muttered. “Cicero misses a lot of things. Sanctuary, family, not being Keeper, being able to kill. Cicero wishes he'd never come here to cold, frozen Skyrim.” He glared at Delphine as if this was entirely her fault.

 

“Come on, we're nearly there,” said Delphine, flinching away from the look in his eyes. Barely 24 hours ago, he'd had a knife to her throat, and all day on the road, she'd caught him glaring at her, fingering his daggers. Hard to tell exactly what was going through his mind, but he was clearly resentful at this whole expedition. Regretting keeping her alive? Perhaps, but something had stayed his hand and for that, Delphine could only be grateful. She just hoped that whatever dark power had influenced the jester kept on doing so. This place was far too isolated for her liking and she wasn't entirely sure she'd win a fight with Cicero, even free and armed to start with.

 

She led Cicero into the ruins and proceeded down a tunnel to a wide cavern with several passages leading off it. There was no one there.

 

“No contact,” said Cicero, reaching for a dagger. “Cicero said what he would do if there was no contact...”

 

“Wait!” Delphine cried. “Maybe he's in one of these side passages.”

 

Cicero sheathed his dagger. “Pick one then, maybe-Listener.”

 

Swallowing nervously, and with a hand on her own sword, Delphine looked around, ruled out the big one straight ahead, that just led into one room with a locked gate at the end, and settled on the first one on the left.

 

“That one. We'll try that one first.”

 

Luck, or something else, was with her. It led into one small dead-end cavern – and in it was an Imperial man in expensive-looking clothes and a hulking bodyguard dressed in Imperial army uniform. Behind them was their campsite... and a circle of burnt-out candles surrounding the remains of some luckless bandit. Delphine felt a shiver run down her spine, and yet she hadn't been so pleased to see anyone in her life. _This is happening. This is really happening. I'm about to sign up to a Dark Brotherhood contract._

 

“Motierre,” she said. “You're Amaund Motierre?”

 

The Imperial raised both eyebrows, clearly impressed. “Well by the Eight. That Black Sacrament actually worked!”

 

Delphine could hear a sharp intake of breath from Cicero. A good sign. She stepped forward. Time to act like a Listener should.

 

“The Night Mother has heard your plea, Amaund Motierre, and the Dark Brotherhood has answered. Tell me, who has crossed you? Who do you wish sent to the Void?” Damn, she was _good_ at this.

 

“It's nothing personal,” Motierre began. “You have to believe that. But this man needs to die, and you are the only ones with the skills to pull it off.”

 

“Your reasons for the contract are your own,” Delphine reassured him. “The Brotherhood asks no questions regarding why. All we need to know is who, and how, and how much.”

 

“How? You don't need me to tell you how to kill someone, surely?” said Motierre. He caught the exasperation in Delphine's eyes. “Forgive me, I've never done this before...”

 

 _Well, that would be both of us._ “Sometimes the client has preferences regarding how the kill is carried out – time, place, method, how the body is found and who by,” said Delphine patiently. “Do any apply here? Is there a particular message you wish this kill to send?”

 

Motierre laughed, suddenly quite cheerful. “Oh my dear Assassin, as far as messages go, the kill will do that all by itself. As long as the job is done, I am quite content. However, this will be a difficult target, and to carry it out, you will need to kill more than one person. Currently the target is based in the Imperial City, but you'll never get to him there, it would be suicide to try. No, he must be lured here, to Skyrim, and while the war has made that difficult, nevertheless I believe there is still a way. Here, I've put the details in a letter for your leader. Astrid, I believe her name is?”

 

“I'll see it reaches the Listener personally,” said Delphine, her lips thinning. _More than one person?? Who on earth is he trying to murder?_ “I will need to know the name of the target and how much the pay will be.”

 

“A considerable sum is yours on fulfilment of the contract,” Motierre promised. “20'000 septims shall be yours once the target is dead, and believe me, I will know when they are. All of Tamriel shall know when they are!” Again, that nervous laugh.

 

Delphine turned to stare at Cicero. That was a huge sum. Surely most contracts were less than that? The Dark Brotherhood were known to kill on behalf of the rich and powerful, but not **only** them. That had to be considerably more than the going rate, and the stunned look on Cicero's face confirmed it.

 

“That's... a lot of septims,” Delphine finally managed to say. “Who in Nirn do you want dead?”

 

Motierre took a deep breath. “The Emperor of Tamriel, Titus Mede II.”

 

Delphine felt the world spin as the blood drained from her face. Hastily grabbing Cicero's arm to stop herself fainting entirely, she heard herself saying, seemingly on autopilot, “You are surely joking.”

 

Motierre shook his head. “No joke, assassin. I want the Emperor dead. I know the Brotherhood has had its setbacks in recent years, but you're still the Brotherhood. Can you do it?”

 

“Prove you're genuine,” said Delphine. “Prove this is no fool's errand. My organisation has little patience with time-wasters. Certainly we will be wanting cash upfront.”

 

“I thought you might,” said Motierre, nodding in approval. “Very well, take this. Get it appraised – it should be worth sufficient coin to convince you this is genuine. Sell it or use it as collateral to raise funds – anything you get for it is yours in addition to the twenty thousand septims.” He handed her an amulet, and Delphine could tell at one glance that it was expensive. To hand over something like this without batting an eyelid – this had to be genuine.

 

“My associate and I will take these back to our Sanctuary, and discuss this... opportunity,” said Delphine, choosing her words carefully. “Thank you for your time, we will be in touch. Where can we reach you to discuss this further?”

 

“Whiterun,” said Motierre. “We'll be taking a room at the Bannered Mare. Send any correspondence there, although I trust I can rely on you not to put too much in writing?”

 

“I know the value of discretion,” Delphine promised. “We'll be in touch – if we decide to take this one, I'll send you details of a dead drop where you can reach us at need.” A good thing Delphine had been at this sort of thing for years and already had suitable arrangements in place really.

 

“Very good,” Motierre nodded. “I will await your leader's response. Good day, assassin.”

 

Delphine nodded in response and turned, walking quickly, arm in arm with Cicero before her legs actually gave out. From the look of him, Cicero wasn't looking too good either. Together, they made it out of the ruins and actually managed to get a good half hour away before Delphine finally collapsed under a tree. Cicero followed suit, falling to his knees at her side, resting his head on her shoulder, one arm draping itself around her waist. It was an oddly intimate gesture, even more so as the ever-present jester hat slipped to one side, and Cicero irritably pulled it off and pocketed it, before leaning into her again, bare-headed now. His eyes were closed, no sign of madness visible for once. Delphine found herself smiling. It looked like he was hers again.

 

“My Listener,” he whispered, in tones verging on reverence. Delphine wasn't sure what disturbed her more, the obsessed adoration or the fact she was starting to like it.

 

“So you believe me now?” she said. Cicero nodded.

 

“Cicero believes,” said Cicero. “Delphine knows many people, has many strings she could pull, but a contract against the Emperor himself?? No, not even you could have arranged that.” Opening his eyes, he gazed up at her, his face alive with worship. “You are Listener. After so long, so long in silence! The Mother has spoken at last. And with such a contract! This will go down in Dark Brotherhood history. _You_ will go down in Dark Brotherhood history!”

 

“I'm not even a member,” Delphine whispered. “I don't even know much of the Dark Brotherhood history. And now I'm Listener with a contract to kill an Emperor? Could the Brotherhood at its height have done this?”

 

“Cicero does not know, Cicero and Delphine will never know,” said Cicero firmly. “But Cicero will tell you what he knows, Listener Delphine the Blade. Cicero will also tell you this – when the Brotherhood was at its height, the Emperor was guarded by Blades. Blades like you. Now he is not, and the Blades are after him instead. Cicero does not think this is coincidence, and Cicero believes we can do this. If Delphine has survived the Thalmor all these years, she can get past the Penitus Oculatus. Especially if she once did their job.”

 

“Perhaps,” Delphine murmured. “Perhaps. You'll help though, right? I mean, this is a lot of work, and you're the real assassin. Be a shame to not have you slit a few throats, eh?”

 

Cicero's eyes lit up. “Listener!” he cried. “You would send faithful Cicero to kill people? Oh my Listener, thank you! Thank you!” He reached for her hand, and for one moment, Delphine thought he was going to kiss it, but he seemed to hesitate and settled for just squeezing it. Delphine couldn't tell if it was relief or disappointment she was feeling.

 

“Don't get carried away, Cicero, there's something else,” said Delphine. Cicero went still, watching her curiously.

 

“What is it, my Listener?” he asked casually, but his posture gave away the tension he was feeling.

 

“I'm still a Blade, Cicero,” said Delphine. “Once we were Imperial bodyguards, yes, but we began as dragonslayers. We were set up to find Dragonborns, and guide and protect them. We found the first Reman Cyrodiil, and later Talos and his Septim heirs, and that's how we became the Imperial bodyguards. We stayed that way even after the Septims were wiped out, even though the Mede dynasty don't have the dragon blood. Right up until the Great War, and Titus Mede the Second disbanded us to appease the Thalmor.” Her eyes hardened. “They hunted us down like beasts, Cicero. Friends, comrades, all slaughtered by the damn Thalmor, and the Empire did nothing. Nothing! So in case you were wondering, no I don't have any particular ethical problems over killing him. I'm not his bodyguard any more and he's no Dragonborn. You are, and that means I'm sworn to guard and protect you.”

 

“Me?” Cicero shook his head, sitting up and backing away, alarmed. “No no no, Cicero does not deserve that. Cicero serves Delphine the Listener, she does not take orders from him. Cicero is a good and loyal Dark Brother, he keeps to the Tenets, he will obey Delphine to the death. Delphine cannot serve Cicero!” He looked distraught at the mere idea. Delphine could only smile. He really was adorable when he was swearing undying allegiance. She'd have to engineer this scenario more often.

 

“Not what I said,” Delphine purred. “Cicero, dragons are coming back and you're Dragonborn. You're going to need to kill them, and skilled as you are, you'll need help. I'll offer you that help as Dragonborn, and in return, you obey me as Listener. As part of that, much of the work we do won't be as part of a Brotherhood contract, it'll be research into why and how dragons are coming back and how to stop it. Are you alright with doing that as well? It'll be dangerous, but you've killed dragons alone, I think you're up to it. But at least until we can get a few recruits and a proper headquarters and some actual money, it's going to take time away from our contract. I just don't want you to doubt my commitment because I'm not spending all my waking hours plotting murder and assassination.”

 

Cicero, to her surprise, actually smiled. “Is that all? Dear Listener, have no fear. This is a big contract we have been given, yes, but at no point in Dark Brotherhood history has it ever been the case that we only have one contract going on at a time, or that the Listener cannot multi-task. So we hunt dragons in between assassinating emperors? Simply tell your Cicero where the nearest dragon is to be found and he shall bring it down for you.”

 

Delphine, watching over his shoulder where trees gave way to tundra, reached for her weapons and staggered to her feet.

 

“Get your bow, Cicero,” said Delphine, taking careful aim with her Dwarven arrows as a dark shadow swept over them and the wind raced through the trees. “One just showed up.”


	3. The Taste of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero and Delphine settle into their new roles, although Delphine's adapting rather better than Cicero. Meanwhile, it's time to expand the Dark Brotherhood and acquire their next new recruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual pr0n in this one! And not the main pairing either - Brynjolf gets some action.
> 
> Also as the title indicates, it's the Namira Daedric Quest. That's right, the cannibalism one. It's not as graphic as it could be, but it does happen.
> 
> This one is a bit long and was just going to be Cicero doing the Taste of Death quest, but then Delphine ended up talking to Brynjolf in Riften and, well, things just spun off from there...

It had taken nearly an hour of shooting at the dragon and dodging the flames before it finally landed, breathing down the back of Delphine's neck and preparing to spew fire all over her. Delphine had drawn her sword, prepared to do battle, but before she could strike it, Cicero had leapt fearlessly on to its head, howling as he'd clutched its horns with his off-hand and wielded his sword like a dagger, stabbing and slashing at the beast until it howled in submission, trying to throw him off but not succeeding. Delphine had taken full advantage, stabbing at its underbelly and slashing its wings so it wouldn't easily take off again. Between the two of them, they'd finally managed to kill it. Cicero had rolled off the dragon's head as it breathed its last, and collapsed at Delphine's feet.

 

“You are well, Listener?” he breathed. Delphine just nodded.

 

“I'm good. You?”

 

“Exhausted,” said Cicero, sounding oddly lucid. He looked up, crooked smile on his face and eyes clearer than Delphine had ever seen them. “But Cicero lives and the dragon does not. This is well.”

 

“Not that well,” said Delphine. “We're a good three hours from Whiterun and we've got no horse. I hope you're going to be fit to walk within the half hour – it's already dark.” Masser was already climbing above the horizon, and his little sister Secunda would no doubt be joining him soon. The flames from the dragon's corpse burned bright and warm, but were dying down already and soon the cold would be back with a vengeance. Then it happened. White light rose up from the corpse and swirled in a vortex before descending upon Cicero. The jester closed his eyes, deadly serious for once as the dragon's soul enveloped him. Delphine shut her eyes against the brightness, but a few seconds later, it was gone. Cicero glowed faintly still, and his now open eyes looked more reptilian than human, but then even that was gone. Shaking himself down, Cicero staggered to his feet.

 

“Dragon burns into dragon bones, and in Cicero's mind shall its soul be at home,” Cicero whispered. “But foolish Cicero, mind has he none; so who is he now, dragon or man?”

 

“Dragonborn,” Delphine gasped, unable to stop staring at him. “Dragonborn, you really are... you took its very soul!” It was one thing to hear about it, quite another to see the proof. She felt a chill run down her spine. One called to a new destiny, the other one called to serve and protect... and in their own way, that applied to both of them now. Now she knew how he'd felt when he'd realised she was truly the Listener. _Dragonborn, there's a Dragonborn again, I have a_ Dragonborn _!_ She could almost dance with sheer delight, except she'd never really been given to such exuberance even as a girl, and her life since had not afforded many opportunities for fun and entertainment. How ironic then that the long-awaited Dragonborn had turned out to be a jester.

 

Said jester was looking far from merry at the moment, in fact he looked terrified.

 

“Can't sleep, dragon'll eat me!” he whispered. “I've spoken their tongue, they can all hear it now. The Greybeards anointed me, said the words of welcome, all the dragons heard it. They know me, they hate me, and now _they're in me_ , even after I kill them!”

 

Damn. She should have foreseen this. Dragon power was a heavy burden for anyone, and Cicero's mind was a fragile place to start with. This had the power to break him if she didn't do something about it.

 

“Cicero, stop it,” said Delphine, closing the gap between them and taking his wrists. “You're my Dragonborn, and I need you-” _sane_ , she almost said, but that was probably asking too much of him.

 

“Here,” she finished. “Here, on the ground, with me. You are not a dragon, you hear me? You're _not a dragon._ ”

 

“Who am I then?” Cicero whispered. “I don't know who I am! Cicero's just some poor humble jester who kills people for a living. He's not... this! He can't have this power, but I do and so I'm clearly not Cicero, and the _laughter's gone_ , but the dragon hasn't and it's _breathing fire in my head,_ and I can't stop it, please, make it stop, help poor Cicero, he doesn't stand a chance!”

 

“Cicero, stop it. You killed its outer form, you can stop its soul,” said Delphine, placing her hands on his shoulders to give him a little shake. “You're not just a Dragonborn, you're a son of Sithis, you're of the Void itself. You end things, you end lives, it's what you do. End this dragon and send it to the Void once and for all. I believe in you, Cicero Dragonborn, and _you can do this._ ” She stared into his eyes, willing him to believe in himself. “That's an order from your Listener, Dark Brother. Go kill that monster and come back to me.”

 

“Come back...” Cicero echoed. He stared back, the intensity building... and then blinked, smiled, laughed and shattered the moment, breaking away and doing a little dance on the spot. “Why, sweet Listener, you have only to ask and Cicero shall obey! Cicero will not leave his dear Listener.” He paused, looking up at her and went oddly serious for a moment. “Cicero will always come back to you, dear Delphine.”

 

“See that you do,” said Delphine firmly, not entirely convinced all was well, but reassured by the return to third-person and the dancing. She didn't even want to think for too long about how that of all things had come to represent reassurance and normality, but it was an improvement on Cicero having a nervous breakdown right in front of her. “Are you really alright?”

 

“Cicero does not know,” said Cicero softly. He reached into his pocket and drew out his jester hat, smoothing out the creases and staring at it. “Every Shout, every dragon soul claimed, every one makes Cicero that bit smaller and insignificant, and the dragon stronger.”

 

“What will help?” Delphine asked. A Dragonborn broken by his power was no use to anyone, and mere uselessness was the best case scenario. “What'll help you feel human again?”

 

“Life,” said Cicero, and that answer was not what she'd have expected from one of the Dark Brotherhood. “Life, light, laughter. Dancing, singing. Mead in one hand, a woman in the other. A reminder that Cicero is not dead yet, not yet in the Void. After ending a life, we celebrate that we still have ours – such is the way of the Brotherhood. I – Cicero often used to visit taverns in Cyrodiil after his kills, or drink sweet Alto Wine with his brothers and sisters at the Sanctuary. It helped.” He reached out to her, a hand resting on her arm. “Remind Cicero that he lives and is a man yet, that he is flesh and meat, not fire and scales. Bind Cicero to Nirn with Nirn's pleasures.”

 

Delphine glanced down at where he was touching her, and then up at him with a half-smile on her face. Blushing, Cicero withdrew his hand and stepped back, staring at his feet.

 

“Forgive me, Cicero did not mean to suggest anything improper, Cicero only meant...”

 

“I think I know what you meant,” said Delphine, years of experience at reading people telling her all she needed to know about where Cicero's thoughts were heading. “Guess it's lucky for both of us I run an inn, isn't it?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Many hours later, and they'd finally arrived back at Riverwood. They'd stopped at the Drunken Huntsman for dinner and mead, and while Cicero's habit of randomly chanting sinister rhyming couplets had garnered a few nervous looks from the other patrons, tersely handing over a couple of dragon scales to Elrindir had ensured they hadn't actually been thrown out. And now they were back at the Sleeping Giant, with Cicero making merry upstairs, drinking her mead and singing the rude version of Ragnar the Red. Delphine had closed the door to her secret room and left him to get on with it. Sinking into her chair, the Night Mother's coffin open, she stared up at the corpse.

 

“So now what?” she asked it. “I've got a contract to _kill the Emperor_. How in Oblivion do I even start? It's just me and Cicero, and I can't risk the Dragonborn getting executed for treason, can I? I'm not sure he'll manage for long without me either. What do I do, Night Mother? I need people, I need money, I need a proper headquarters! I can hardly run the Dark Brotherhood from the basement of an inn, can I? You want this done? _Help me_. Send your Listener some damn guidance!”

 

Nothing happened. Delphine snorted. Had she really expected an answer? She turned to the letter Amaund Motierre had given her. Foolish of him to have handed over his plans in writing to a complete stranger, even one who had come unannounced and knowing his name to a place no one knew he'd be. Still, set out like this, it actually looked doable. Kill the Emperor's cousin first, Vittoria Vici of Solitude, at her own wedding. That would bring the Emperor to Skyrim. Then find and kill the chef known as The Gourmet. Easier said than done, but Amaund had had a tip-off that a chef in Markarth might know where to find him. Once that was done, someone would have to impersonate The Gourmet and get in to Castle Dour to cook for the Emperor. It would be the last meal the Emperor ever ate.

 

Complicated, but these things usually were. It was still child's play compared to the report she'd had from Farengar. The Dragonstone showed the location of dragon burial mounds in Skyrim, and she'd had the idea of getting Farengar to write to the Jarls of Skyrim and get details of dragon attacks and what state the mounds were in. It made for chilling reading. No trouble in the north or west, but Anuriel of Riften had written of mounds found empty and attacks on isolated settlements and travellers. Jorleif of Windhelm had written similarly, of empty mounds in the south of Eastmarch and sightings of dragons. It was all rather worrying, and Delphine had privately decided a little trip to Riften was warranted soon. She needed to get that amulet appraised anyway, which meant it was time to revisit a few old friends in that neck of the wood. She wondered idly how they'd react to Cicero.

 

“Delphine?” Cicero murmured from right behind her. Delphine nearly jumped right out of her seat.

 

“Damn, Cicero, don't creep up on me like that!” Delphine gasped. “What do you want?”

 

“Cicero wanted to check on Mother before he went to bed,” said Cicero, perching himself on the table next to her. He looked almost concerned, and a lot less manic than usual, but Delphine could smell mead on his breath and did not let down her guard.

 

“Cicero thought you had already retired to bed – he was surprised to find yours empty,” said Cicero. “Are you well, my Listener? It will be dawn soon, and you have been travelling all day. You should rest.”

 

“Are you always such a mother hen?” Delphine asked, unable to resist grinning despite herself. “You already Keep the Night Mother, you don't need to do the same for me.”

 

“Cicero shall do as his Listener bids,” said Cicero calmly. “But Cicero also thinks Delphine has had very little of being tended to in her life and could do with someone to watch over her.”

 

“And you're volunteering?” Delphine raised an eyebrow. She ruthlessly ignored the part of her that was quietly crying out for someone, anyone, to touch her and take care of her, let her finally be vulnerable for once. She'd ignored it successfully for the last thirty years after all.

 

Of course, that was while no one had been offering. Much harder to keep a lid on it all when Cicero was leaning forward and trailing those long killer's fingers down her cheek and looking for all the world like he was about to kiss her, and honestly it had been so long, Delphine wasn't even sure she wanted him to stop, even though it was surely a terrible idea and all manner of wrong...

 

“ _Listener..._ ” a voice whispered, and it wasn't Cicero's. Delphine broke away from Cicero, turning to the Night Mother. The corpse was glowing again. Cicero frowned and followed her gaze. When his eyes fell on the Night Mother, he gasped and slid off the table, falling to his knees.

 

“Mother!” he whispered. “She speaks! Do you hear her, Listener? Is she speaking to you?”

 

“I think so, but if I'm to hear her, I need you to _be quiet,_ ” said Delphine, pointedly reaching down and sliding fingers through his hair, giving it a meaningful tug. Cicero whimpered and nodded.

 

“Cicero shall be quiet,” he whispered. “Silent as the Void shall your Cicero be, yes.” True to his word, he stared at the Night Mother in rapt adoration and said not another word.

 

“ _Help you need and help shall you have, Listener. Brothers and sisters in Darkness there are for you, all over Skyrim though they know it not and know each other not. You shall come to them all in time, and you shall have a home of your own to tend to them all in._ ”

 

“Yeah, but when?” Delphine asked, wishing the Night Mother would get on with it already and stop with the cryptic. “I kind of need the assistance soon, the Vici wedding's in less than two months. I can't do it myself and don't want to risk the Dragonborn on what's likely to be a suicide errand.”

 

Delphine could swear the Night Mother was laughing.

 

“ _So impatient. I like that in a Listener, so few in recent years have been doers rather than thinkers. Very well. Your new home will come in time. A Blade you once were, a Blade you still are – let the Blades lead you to it. Follow the dragons and they shall guide you. As for your Family... look west for the first. Look to the city of stone, for one sheltered by Arkay but not one of his, serving one Lord but with strange tastes that will lead her to us in the end. Look under stone and reach to the cliff to find your first Dark Sister._ ”

 

The glow disappeared. Next to her, Cicero turned questioning eyes upon her.

 

“What did she say?” Cicero whispered. “Do we have a new contract?”

 

Delphine shook her head, not even seeming to realise she was still running her fingers through Cicero's hair and had been doing throughout the conversation with the Night Mother.

 

“Better,” said Delphine. “We both need rest and sleep, because tomorrow we'll be hitting the road. I'm off to Riften to do a bit of research into dragons and get this amulet that Motierre gave us valued.”

 

Cicero did not miss the use of the singular. “You are going to Riften? Alone? Is that safe? Cicero has heard of Riften. Full of thieves and ruffians and cutthroats. Fun for Cicero, but will Delphine be safe?”

 

“Safe enough,” said Delphine, not sure whether to be irritated or pleased that someone cared enough to be concerned for her. “Cicero, I do have ties with the Thieves Guild, and it's not like I can't take care of myself. Spent a year hiding out in the Ratway once, trying to throw the Thalmor off my tail.”

 

“And if the Thalmor find it again?” Cicero still looked very dubious about this idea.

 

“It's Stormcloak territory out there,” Delphine reassured him. “The Thalmor can't move openly in the Rift, and they don't have the contacts I do. I'll be fine. It's the Imperial holds where I might run into problems. Markarth for example. That place is probably crawling with Thalmor. I could never operate openly there. That's where you come in.”

 

Cicero's eyes widened. “Me, Listener? Why, what could poor Cicero do for you in Markarth? Do you need Cicero to kill the Thalmor there for you so you can come there yourself?”

 

“No, no,” Delphine laughed. Really, Cicero was too adorable sometimes. “Although any Thalmor you can kill without getting caught or killed will help. But it's the Night Mother herself who needs someone to go to Markarth. Listen well, Cicero, because you're going to find us a new Sister.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Cicero slipped into the city of Markarth, blinking in the noon-day sun as light reflected off the stonework. So bright. So unforgiving. So very unappealing to a creature of the night like himself. He flinched away from the stares the gate guards were giving him. He didn't do well with guards at the best of times, and these looked more unfriendly than most. Not for the first time, he wished Delphine had come. Very little scared her. Even tied up and with his knife at her throat, she'd not seemed scared. The Night Mother had clearly chosen well. He just hoped he could do the same. Sent out here and not even to kill, but to recruit. Unnerving new territory to Cicero, and he had very little to go on. Delphine had admitted the Night Mother had been cryptic, but had suggested that their potential Sister might be found in the Hall of the Dead, and looking under stone might refer to Understone Keep, the Jarl's residence. Delphine had recalled the Hall of the Dead having an entrance into the Keep at one point. She'd had no idea what reaching to the cliff or strange tastes might refer to though. Still, it was something to go on.

 

The inside of the Keep, when he finally found it, came as a blessed relief – cool, dark, quiet, stone walls and floor that were easy to clean blood off.

 

“Hope you're not here for a job, merry man,” one of the guards growled. “Jarl doesn't need a jester at his court.”

 

Cicero repressed the immediate fantasies of disembowelling the guard and decorating Markarth with his entrails that came to mind, and forced a smile on his face.

 

“Oh no, humble Cicero is not here for work,” said Cicero, eyes and mouth wide in an expression which Cicero imagined to be friendliness personified but in actuality was more likely to give people nightmares. “Cicero is here to pay his respects to Markarth's honoured dead. Where might the Hall of Arkay be found?”

 

The guard tightened his grip on his sword and nodded off to the left. “That way, but you'll need to speak to Brother Verulus. Place has been closed for the last fortnight.”

 

“Closed!” Cicero cried. “How can it be closed? Surely Markarth's people haven't stopped dying. Cicero could remedy that...”

 

“It's closed to visitors,” the guard repeated, his tone getting ever more impatient. “You want in, speak to Brother Verulus. Otherwise, jester, go home.”

 

Cicero took off in the direction the guard had indicated. This was an unexpected complication, but even so, it need not be the end of the world. Cicero did have some lockpicking skill, and if need be, he could always slit this Brother Verulus' throat and take the key. Assuming there were no witnesses, it would be simplicity itself to hide the body in the Hall. Given that it was closed until further notice, it could be weeks by the time the body was found, by which time Cicero would be back in Riverwood.

 

But no. Cicero was not here to kill, not this time. Not unless he had to. Whistling a little tune, he skipped up the Keep's main hall way, until he saw a priest arguing with a Nord warrior, who also seemed a bit put out by the Hall of the Dead being shut. After threatening the priest with dire consequences if any bodies were desecrated, the warrior turned and stalked off, leaving the priest glaring. Before he could disappear, Cicero took advantage.

 

“Hello, is it Brother Verulus?” asked Cicero, a little breathless at the prospect of actually having to talk to someone and try and get something out of them. It had never really been his strong point. “Cicero is hearing that the Hall of the Dead is closed, and is most saddened as he has respects he must be paying, yes.”

 

“Shor's bones, not another one,” the priest sighed. “Yes, I'm Brother Verulus, yes the Hall of the Dead is shut, and no you can't go in. Jarl's orders. If you wish to leave any tributes for the dead, leave them with me and tell them who you want them left for and I can take them in for you. Otherwise, you'll have to come back in a few weeks, by which time we'll hopefully have sorted things out.”

 

Damn. Oh well, no help for it, Cicero would have to come back that night and kill him, it was the only way. However, there was one other possibility...

 

“Is there a problem?” Cicero asked, wide-eyed. “Cicero might be able to help with it, especially if it is the kind of problem easily solved by a knife in the gut. Why not tell humble Cicero what is wrong and he may be able to assist.”

 

Brother Verulus raised an eyebrow, but did not back away nervously, which was what people usually did when Cicero was trying to be friendly.

 

“Well, I was going to ask the Jarl to hire someone... All right, come with me. I'll tell you what's up but you must tell no one, understand?”

 

“Cicero understands,” said Cicero, practically bouncing as he followed the priest. “Cicero will not tell a living soul, no, not a word will he utter.”

 

“Better keep it that way, fool,” Verulus growled, pulling Cicero into a dark corner and lowering his voice. “The Hall's shut because it's infested with... something. Something that's preying on the dead.”

 

“Preying on the dead?” Cicero scratched his head, genuinely puzzled. “Why would you prey on someone once they're dead? The living are much more fun to hunt.”

 

“It's eating them,” Verulus snapped. “I keep finding bite marks on the bodies, chunks of flesh missing, bones snapped open and the marrow removed, that sort of thing. Worst thing is, it's not leaving any other traces. Whatever it is, it's fast, smart, cunning and good at hiding. Almost like it knows when I'm there.”

 

_Fast, smart, good at hiding and sneaking, just like me... sheltered by Arkay but not one of his... strange tastes that will lead her to us._ It had to be his new Sister, it must be. Cicero felt a little shiver run up his spine. 

 

“Fear not, Brother,” Cicero said, hearing the words almost as if someone else were speaking them. “Cicero will go into your Hall and find out what's causing this. It may be good at sneaking, but so is Cicero and Cicero is patient. Cicero will hunt it down for you, if you will let him.”

 

Verulus breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said, handing Cicero a key. “Through those doors. Anything you can do will be a help.”

 

Singing to himself, Cicero danced over to the Hall and let himself in. He'd have been singing in rhyme, but even he had trouble finding something to rhyme with 'cannibal'.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The door closed behind him and Cicero's merry mood shifted subtly from carefree mania to something quieter but infinitely more deadly. Cicero's blades were in his hands and he'd dropped into a crouch, creeping quietly through the crypt.

 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he whispered. “Cicero will find you, and when he does... well, whatever you want, Cicero can offer you better than skulking in a crypt. Hunting is better than scavenging, little corpse-feeder!”

 

“ _Not many would come into a crypt blindly, smelling of blood and steel... but not fear.”_ A woman's voice, tinged with laughter, echoed in his mind. Cicero stopped, crouching bolt upright.

 

“Mother?” he whispered. “Is that you? Surely not... no, it cannot be Mother. Surely this is just another one of the voices in poor Cicero's head, his mind playing cruel tricks on him. Not now, Cicero must hunt!”

 

A pause, then the voice again.

 

“ _You_ are _different. Not like the others, not like that lazy priest. You're...”_ and her voice almost seemed to shiver, whether in fear or delight, Cicero couldn't tell. _“Like me. You're like me. You've seen so much death and darkness, you're part of it now. You don't need to hide, Cicero. I won't judge you. I can take you to a place where you can sate your dark appetites in safety, without guilt, without fear. Come, join me. Maybe we can help each other.”_

 

Cicero had visions of an underground labyrinth, full of helpless victims staggering around blind so he could sneak up at leisure and kill them, his knife slicing jugulars and stabbing into kidneys or opening bellies and letting intestines slither on the ground like so many reddish-purple snakes, and the blood, so much lovely  _blood_ ...

 

“Oh _yes_ ,” Cicero breathed. “Yes, you'll be a fine addition.” He sheathed his knives and got to his feet. “Where are you?”

 

The speaker stepped out of the shadows, a blonde woman about his height in scaled armour, one silver eye and one blank, blind one staring into his, and a twisted smile on her face.

 

“Oh yes indeed, you're one of us. I can tell,” she announced, appearing as pleased by the whole scenario as he was. “Can you remember your first?”

 

“My first?” Cicero said thoughtfully. “It was long ago, but yes, I remember. I was fifteen, working my first proper job as errand boy for a wealthy merchant. His wife was much younger than him, she must have been about twenty, and beautiful, oh so very beautiful. Needless to say, I fell in love immediately and when she seduced me, I went without a thought. And when she complained of her husband, fat, balding, near impotent and usually drunk, and how she longed to be rid of him, I was oh so eager to please. I intercepted him on the way home from the tavern telling him he had to come quick, I had an important message from his wife. He was so drunk he didn't even notice me lead him down a dark alley. I stabbed him in the belly, but he was so fat, my knife barely reached his guts. Fortunately, I had the foresight to bring a sword as well, and ended up slicing his head half off. Left him there, swiped his gold and ran home to clean up. Of course, it ended badly – when I went to my lovely and told her what I'd done, she started screaming and I had to slit her throat to shut her up. Broke my heart, but really, why complain to me if she didn't want me to do anything about it?”

 

The woman had gone very still and was now staring at him. “I... don't think we're talking about the same thing here, are we? You don't remember eating the bodies?”

 

Now it was Cicero's turn to stare. “No. Believe me, I remember both kills quite well, I was more concerned with escaping than with feeding.”

 

The woman shrugged. “Well, no matter. Most of us don't remember at first. The shame is too great. But you don't have to be ashamed any more. Lady Namira won't judge you. Namira accepts all. And you... most people have barriers to work through first. Guilt over killing, inability to strike the final blow and bring down their prey. But not you. You can hunt without fear, kill without remorse. Truly, you'll make a fine addition to our group!”

 

“What a coincidence,” Cicero murmured. “Cicero was thinking the same thing. Might Cicero know your name?”

 

“Eola,” she said, and Cicero breathed in the name like it was rose perfume, playing the syllables over and over in his mind.

 

“Eola, Eola, she hunts without fear-ola,” he chanted to himself. He noticed her raised eyebrow and felt himself blush. “Forgive me, it is the best I can do at such short notice. Normally Cicero has more time to work on his rhymes.”

 

Eola just smiled. “You are a strange one, Cicero, but I find I like you. Did Verulus send you in here to kill me?”

 

“He sent me in here to stop the corpse-eating,” said Cicero. “But Cicero is not being paid to kill, not this time. Pretty Eola need not fear humble Cicero.”

 

“Paid to kill...” Eola murmured, frowning. “You say that like you kill for hire often. And when I asked what your first was... most people think of a first kiss or first love, but not you, your mind thought of a first murder...” Her eyes widened. “Holy Namira! You're with the Dark Brotherhood!”

 

“Sssh! Not so loud!” Cicero hissed. “If Verulus takes it into his head to follow me in, he might hear and Cicero would have to kill him. Although that might not be such a bad thing.”

 

“Could I feed after you were done?” Eola asked, gleeful at the prospect.

 

“Of course,” said Cicero. “Cicero does not greatly care what becomes of his victims after they die.”

 

“No, I don't suppose you would,” said Eola, still a little starstruck. “The Dark Brotherhood, wow! I never thought I'd actually ever meet one of you. I thought you were all killed years ago.”

 

“Most of us were,” said Cicero sadly, remembering the Bruma and Cheydinhal Sanctuaries and his comrades there. He'd had friends once, a family to replace the one he lost when he had to flee town after that teenage double-murder. Then he lost that second family too. It was a lot to bear in one lifetime. “But a few of us still live, still following the old ways. And now the Night Mother speaks once more to our new Listener, and she bids us seek new recruits. She sent me here... to you.”

 

Eola went very still and pale. “To... me? Wait a second, you're inviting **me** to join the Dark Brotherhood? Why? You barely know who I am!”

 

“Cicero knows you like to feed on the flesh of the dead, and that you may well not be too fussy about how they get to be dead,” said Cicero. “Eola has not been here for long and yet she is not a stranger to cannibalism, so clearly scavenging off corpses is not how she usually feasts. Tell Cicero, Eola. Tell Cicero of your kills and how you felt when the knife slid into their flesh.”

 

“Sweet, sweet flesh,” Eola whispered, eyes fluttering closed as she relived the memories. “I preyed on accident victims first, or victims of bandit raids I found on the road. I never killed until one day I found a victim still alive but badly injured and likely to die. He expired in front of me and I got to taste fresh meat, and oh the difference, I cannot describe. So sweet on the tongue, so fiery in the blood. Old meat just doesn't have that same kick to it, you know? That's when I took up the blade and learnt magic, and then I started hunting. I'd lie in wait on deserted stretches of road, waiting for victims. I'd track them until they made camp, then I'd pick them off as they left to do their business, or strike while they slept. I'd smother or strangle, then haul the body away and carve and eat my fill. Then I found there were others like me, worshipping at the shrine of Namira, and we got bolder. We would lure people to our lair and we would feast. It felt so good to finally be home.”

 

“What happened?” Cicero asked, sensing there was more to this. “If you had a home, why are you now scavenging in the Hall of the Dead?”

 

“Draugr,” said Eola, grimacing. “Two weeks ago, the dead rose and drove us out of the shrine. I've been waiting for the right moment to strike. I can't go in there alone, and the others are too cowardly or don't have the skills in any case. But you... yes, you might. Tell you what, Cicero. You help me clear out the Draugr and get Lady Namira's shrine reconsecrated, and I'll think about giving the Dark Brotherhood a go. Do we have a deal?”

 

“Deal,” said Cicero without even hesitating. He had no idea it would be this easy. Of course, there was the tomb full of Draugr to clear out, but honestly, it's not like he'd never done that before. The hard part, the talking to people part, that was over. Now came the killing – the part he liked best.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“A pleasure as always, Delphine,” said Brynjolf, pushing a tankard of Black-Briar mead her way. “Now what's all this about? Were you thinking of getting back in the game again, rejoining the Guild? You know we'd be pleased to have you back any time. We could really use someone with your skills. Especially the way things are going right now.”

 

“Wish I could help you, Bryn,” Delphine sighed, sitting back in the chair in the small, private room Brynjolf liked to call his office. “But I have enough on my plate with the dragons returning and... other commitments.”

 

“Ah yes. Dragons.” Brynjolf glowered as he sipped his own mead. “As if business wasn't bad enough as it is. At least nothing's attacked Riften yet, but the visitors have practically dried up. We need trade to keep going, lass!”

 

“I promise you I'm looking into it,” said Delphine. “I actually visited a few dragon mounds on my way here, looking for clues.”

 

“Find any?” Brynjolf asked, more out of hope than expectation.

 

“Some,” said Delphine, preferring not to have to admit out loud that the dragons weren't just coming back, they were coming back to life. “Not much I didn't already know. I've got a few more leads to follow though. Things aren't hopeless yet.”

 

“They are if you're a thief,” Brynjolf sighed. “I'm serious, Delphine, if you ever want back in, or if you find some talented light-fingered cat burglar crying out for some work, you come find me. I need all the hands I can get.”

 

“We'll see,” said Delphine. “But I'm doing a little recruiting of my own at the moment. I might prefer to take them on myself, especially if they're willing to get their hands dirty.”

 

“Recruiting?” Brynjolf asked, his voice sharp. “To what? You've always been the ultimate lone wolf, lass. What changed?”

 

“Dragons came back,” said Delphine, already feeling she'd said too much. “Everything else has followed on from that. Enough about that, though. I need something appraising on the quiet, and somehow my mind immediately turned to you.”

 

Brynjolf grinned, rubbing his hands with glee. “Now that sounds like something I can be of service with. You got it with you? Let's take a look.”

 

Delphine took out the amulet and pushed it across the table. Brynjolf held it up to the candlelight and nearly dropped it in shock.

 

“Where in Oblivion did you get this, lass?? No, don't tell me, I don't want to know. Delphine, do you even know what you have?”

 

“It's an amulet,” Delphine sighed. “It's clearly worth something. I don't think it's enchanted but I'm no mage. Beyond that, I don't know what it is and don't really want to. Just tell me what you'll give me for it.”

 

“It's a unique piece, lass,” said Brynjolf, still barely able to believe what he was looking at. “Rarer than a Falmer's eyes. These amulets are given out by the Emperor himself to his Council members, his Inner Circle. Who did you have to rob or kill to get this?”

 

“It was given to me freely,” said Delphine. “And I haven't had to kill anyone yet. Just take it off my hands, give me septims, don't ask too many questions. See if you can sell it to some Stormcloak merchant who has no idea what it is.”

 

Brynjolf was still staring at her, concerned.

 

“Delphine lass, what have you got yourself involved in? You're not telling me you were one of Titus Mede's advisors at one point? I almost wish you were, because the alternative...” He shook his head. “Never mind. This is business, no questions asked. I'm fairly certain it'd empty the vault to pay you what it's actually worth, but I can give you four thousand septims up front and a credit note for a further eleven thousand. You want it, lass, we can get it.”

 

Delphine could almost feel the room spin around her. She'd seen large sums of money in one place before now - the inn had cost nine thousand to acquire. All the same, this was far more than she'd expected to get for it. Looks like whatever problems she was likely to have, money wasn't one of them.

 

"I'll take those septims, Bryn," she managed to get out. 

 

“Then you have yourself a deal,” said Brynjolf, shaking her hand. The septims were duly produced, and Delphine tried not to think about how she was going to transport the small wooden chest of gold home. At last, the formalities were wrapped up and she was ready to leave. Almost...

 

“There is one last thing I could use help with,” Delphine said nervously, not quite able to believe she was having to ask, but it was something she needed to talk to _someone_ about, even if that someone was the second in command of the Thieves Guild. At least Brynjolf was discreet. “It's a personal matter. I could use your advice.”

 

“A personal matter, eh?” Brynjolf sat back and poured them both some more mead. He noticed the faint blush on Delphine's cheeks and started to grin. “Don't tell me you've finally met someone who gets your wheels turning.”

 

Delphine could feel the blush deepening, and could only glare at Brynjolf as he sat back and laughed. “Shut up, it's not funny! I need help here! You're something of a ladies' man, or so they tell me, help me out!”

 

Somehow, Brynjolf got himself under control. “Sorry lass, you're right. It's not funny, not remotely. It's just... you were always so self-contained and serious and apparently uninterested in the whole business. I'm having difficulty imagining you pining for someone.”

 

“I'm not pining- look,” said Delphine, wondering how this conversation had got out of hand so fast. “As you know, my situation has changed and I'm starting to expand my organisation. And, well, one of my recruits has, shall we say, made it pretty clear they're interested.”

 

“And you're not? Or... oh, you are, aren't you? But you don't know what to do about it?” Brynjolf sipped his mead, still grinning in that knowing way that made Delphine want to slap him. “Give him some mead and haul him into your bedroom – I promise you, most young men rarely object to an attractive woman taking the direct approach, unless they're gay, I suppose, but we've already established the attraction is mutual here.” He stopped, something occurring to him. “It is a man, isn't it? Because if it turned out to be a lady, that would explain an awful lot.”

 

Delphine had to smile at that. “It's a he. A younger he. A younger, subordinate he, and well, I don't need to tell you how that can work out. Or not.”

 

“It's not always a bad thing,” said Brynjolf gently. “Lass, when you're involved in a line of work like ours, getting involved outside the organisation brings a lot of risks. And when you're at the top, you don't really have a lot of choice about dating someone lower down. You just need to make sure that they're happy to stay subordinate – no dating someone who's going to be after your job in a few years. Also make sure you're not seen as playing favourites either – keep giving them jobs, make sure it's ones they can do, include the odd unpleasant or dangerous one, make sure you're fair to the others. Finally, be honest about what you can and can't offer. If it's just a roll in the hay you're after, best not to get involved. Plenty of company available elsewhere for that, pay for it if you have to. If you're after something a bit more long-term, make sure you're on the same page – you don't want to get your heart broken. If you run into problems, talk it over in private, don't let it spill over into the group. And if it all goes to Oblivion, make sure you've got somewhere else to transfer them, or someone to mediate between the two of you. Last thing you want is to be stuck looking at your ex every day.”

 

“I'll keep that in mind,” said Delphine, still not sure that had helped. After all, it wasn't like she didn't know most of that already. “Thing is, I'm not sure what I want. It's just there's not really been anyone for me in years, and I'm not sure if it's really him I'm attracted to or just the idea of having someone actually wanting me. This is where I need help, Bryn. I know the Guild doesn't get involved with sex work, but it knows people, and I was wondering if you could track down a willing young-ish man or elf, ideally someone who was actually alive and out of the cradle when the White-Gold Concordat was signed, who's available and disease-free and interested in a no strings attached roll in the hay. Someone with a bed of their own here in the city would also help. I'm willing to buy them dinner and mead and compensate them for their time. Do you know anyone? Is there someone in the Guild or out of it who might do?”

 

She couldn't even bring herself to look at Brynjolf as she said all this. Had it really come to this, that she was offering to pay a stranger for sex just to get Cicero out of her head? Cicero who, if the Night Mother hadn't intervened, she'd probably have taken into her bed out of sheer loneliness. She could surely do better than an insane homicidal jester. Couldn't she?

 

She felt a hand on her own, and looked up sharply to see Brynjolf gazing at her.

 

“Delphine, lass, if that's all you're after, look no further. You can do better than some soulless business transaction. I have mead, I have food, I have a double bed to myself, and you don't need to offer me your gold. Damn, Delphine, I've admired you for years and you're still looking spectacular for a woman in her forties.”

 

“I'm older than that as you well know,” said Delphine, fighting back the surprise and the sudden increase in heart rate. “Are you... seriously offering?” Two men throwing themselves at her in a week? This was not normal.

 

“Why wouldn't I?” asked Brynjolf, getting to his feet and coming to stand behind her, hands starting to knead her shoulders. “You're a fine woman, Delphine. You could have had virtually any man in here and possibly a few of the women. I have lost count of the number of people who've tried to chat you up and got nothing but a polite brush-off in return, like you hadn't even noticed they were trying.”

 

“I... hadn't,” Delphine whispered, closing her eyes and cursing herself for being so blind and so paranoid. “Talos, yes, keep doing that.” Brynjolf's fingers had left her shoulders and were now working their way down her back, kneading her through her leather armour and working on muscles she hadn't even realised she had.

 

“Are you taking me up on my offer then, lass?” Brynjolf purred, right into her ear. “Because if you are, this'll go a lot smoother if we get you out of this armour.”

 

Delphine reached for her tankard and promptly downed the contents, before turning around, running fingers into Brynjolf's hair and pulling him towards her for a kiss. Brynjolf barely hesitated before he was returning it, pulling her to him and moaning greedily as his hands reached to cup her bottom. Delphine took advantage of the momentum and soon had him against a wall, one knee sliding in between his legs as she rubbed herself against his thigh, hands roaming his chest and looking for the fastenings on his Guild armour. Brynjolf was already loosening her hair and nibbling her neck, and as her hair fell loose in his hands, he began working at the buckles on her outfit.

 

“Where's this bed you promised me?” Delphine whispered.

 

“This way,” Brynjolf murmured, releasing her just long enough to take her by the hand and lead her away. Delphine, feeling more alive than she'd done in years, followed behind. The bedroom wasn't far and as soon as they were both inside with the door firmly shut, Brynjolf was on her again, stripping her out of her armour with a brisk efficiency that suggested he was quite used to doing this sort of thing, and falling on to the bed with her, trailing kisses down her neck and collarbone, before fixing his mouth on her nipple. Delphine wrapped her legs around him, entwining her fingers in his hair as she writhed beneath him and pushed harder on the back of his head. Divines, why had she not done this years ago?? Then she felt him slipping a hand between her legs and promptly lost all reason as fingers slipped inside her and his thumb started tracing circles on her clit.

 

“Nine, you are beautiful,” Brynjolf gasped as he watched her cry out as the orgasm took her. “I'd have persisted years ago if I'd known you looked like this.”

 

“You're wearing too many clothes,” was the only response Delphine felt capable of making. “Get out of that armour. Now.”

 

Brynjolf laughed as he began to strip. “You're a fiery one, eh? Always liked that in a woman. Saved having to work out what she wanted on my own.”

 

Delphine just smiled as she watched him take his Guild armour off. She liked what she saw, nicely muscled, typical Nord body hair but thankfully not too much of it, and it turned out the typical Nord boasting about the size of their weapon wasn't too far off the mark either.

 

“You'll do. Come here,” Delphine growled. Brynjolf gasped as she wrapped her legs around him once more, then twisted in a move her old combat tutors had taught her, flipping him over and pinning him down. Brynjolf stared up, more than a little bit flustered.

 

“That was... sudden?” he said hesitantly. Delphine stroked his cheek, smiling.

 

“It's alright, Bryn, you're safe enough,” she told him. “I'm not going to hurt you. Just lie back and enjoy.” As she began to trail kisses down his body, Brynjolf began to relax, and by the time she took him into her mouth, he was definitely past caring.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Cicero dodged and weaved as the Dragon Priest hurled ice spikes at him, alternately ducking behind pillars then emerging to let off an arrow, then hiding again. Eola meanwhile was shouting curses at it, lightning spells hammering into it and forcing it to split its attention between the two of them. Well, three of them, Cicero should say – Eola had a flame Atronach summoned and it was doing its bit with flame spells. Cicero took advantage of a fireball distracting the Dragon Priest and leapt over the table towards it. It was injured, Cicero could tell – its movements had slowed and its howling was sounded more pained than enraged. Swapping bow for swords, he crept closer.

 

Of course, the Dragon Priest chose that moment to turn towards him, frostbite spell blasting into him and chilling Cicero to the bone. On the other side of the room he heard Eola shout “No!” and rush forward, sword drawn and fire blazing at her left-hand. The Draugr just laughed and struck out, back-handing her with its staff and following it up with a flame spell from said staff. Eola, armour blazing, fell back screaming as the Draugr fled back into the far corner by the altar.

 

Cicero decided at this point that he'd really had enough of corpses that had the nerve to go wandering around long after someone had gone to all the trouble of putting them in their grave, not to mention corpses that _kept moving_ and wouldn't stay still long enough to get a decent strike at them.

 

“Haunt Lady Namira's cave? I'll send you back into your grave!” Cicero chanted, taking a deep breath. “ _Fus Ro Dah!_ ”

 

It hadn't been expecting that. The Priest fell back into a corner, and Cicero, adrenaline-fuelled mind and body fired up even more by the rush of dragon power, sprang towards it for the kill. The Dragon Priest never stood a chance. A frenzy of dual-wielded swords later and it was all over. The thing collapsed into ash before his eyes. Behind him, he heard Eola approach. She was wiping her lips, an empty healing potion bottle in her hand, and her armour looked slightly charred around the edges, but other than that, she looked fine.

 

“You did it,” Eola whispered. “You've reclaimed the shrine for Lady Namira!”

 

Cicero sheathed his blades and made her a little bow. “Cicero merely did as he was bid by the terms of our agreement, no more.” He straightened up and smiled. “And now, Cicero believes that as he helped deadly Eola with her problem, Eola promised in return she might lend her blade and magic to the Dark Brotherhood?”

 

“I said I'd think about it,” said Eola, folding her arms. “But you aren't done yet. I said you'd need to help get rid of the Draugr and help reconsecrate the shrine. You've done the first part. But my coven need to reclaim this place as ours, and that means a feast. You're one of us now, Brother Cicero, so that means you'll be joining us. As a guest of course.” Eola's smile was not entirely reassuring on that point.

 

“A – a guest?” Cicero said, his voice wavering. “Cicero is not always very good at parties, for some reason people always seem to want to avoid him. His Dark Brothers and Sisters never minded, but other people, normal people, they don't seem to like his jokes and capers.”

 

“We are a coven of Namira,” said Eola gently. “I don't think 'normal people' is exactly the best term to use for us, any more than the Dark Brotherhood deserves it. Talk about death and murder? My people will be all ears. You'll fit in just fine, Cicero. But first, we need to get the feast organised. I can set this place in order and send the invites, but we need a main course. That's where you come in.”

 

“Me?” Cicero said nervously. “What does Cicero need to do?”

 

“Simple,” said Eola. “We need someone luring in, a prime physical specimen, one used to easy living, one ripe for the kill. That's your job. And I know the perfect person.”

 

Cicero began to relax now he knew it wouldn't be him bleeding out on the altar. “Say on, Sister. Who needs to die?”

 

Eola told him and handed him sufficient gold to bribe the man with. Cicero took the money and began to laugh. And laugh. And laugh, all the way back to Markarth.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

When Delphine awoke, it was to darkness, a bed comfier than she'd expected to end up in, and the unfamiliar sensation of a warm body at her back, an arm draped over her and warm breath at her ear. There was a slight hangover from the mead, but not enough to obscure the fact that last night's activities had been entirely voluntary and knowingly done, and that she'd initiated a good more than half of it.

 

“Damn,” she muttered. Well, she'd had the chance to get it out of her system alright. Pity it hadn't entirely worked. She was still tingling, and the throbbing between her legs told her she could definitely go another round. Maybe even with Brynjolf – she certainly had little to complain of there and while neither of them were ever likely to be the marrying kind, she'd seen in his eyes in brief unguarded moments that not only would he be willing to do this again, he could quite easily become more than passingly fond of her. That was the problem really, wasn't it? She knew what he did for a living, but could never really be as honest in return. He was just a thief – she was now a leader of murderers. She didn't think he'd understand, despite the number of ex-Brotherhood types in the Guild, perhaps because of it. The Thieves Guild was where former Dark Brotherhood members went when they wanted to go straight. Brynjolf, despite his nefarious business dealings, was still a good man at heart. Perhaps that was the problem. Not dark enough. Not twisted enough. He might like a fiery woman in bed, but he'd never be content to curl up at her feet, awaiting her every command, anticipating her needs before she even knew them herself. Never entirely devoted to her. Never watching her in awe and calling her his Listener.

 

Damn. No, really. Damn it all to Oblivion. She could not possibly be having romantic, domestic fantasies about being doted on and nagged to eat and sleep properly by a psychotic jester. Really. This was not how it was supposed to go. _I must be as insane as he is to find someone like him attractive._ Not to mention how he'd looked going at the dragon, or practically dancing among the Draugr as he'd carved them up in Ustengrav before they'd even known he was there. And she'd seen the way he'd looked at her afterwards, dark, dangerous, ready for more... and then looking at the heap of bodies around her and then back to her, not only impressed by her skills but positively aroused.

 

Damn it all. She could have something sane and healthy with Brynjolf, and what was she hankering for? Making a certain jester whimper. Delphine sighed, and began to extricate herself from the bed, hoping to not wake Brynjolf up in the process.

 

Light flared behind her, and Delphine turned, surprised to see what looked like a magelight hovering above Brynjolf's head. He was blinking up at her, bleary-eyed and tousled, but still deliciously attractive despite that. Worse, his defences weren't up yet, and Delphine winced. Far too vulnerable, and she had a horrible feeling this wasn't going to go well.

 

Brynjolf glanced up at the light. “Stole a couple of Alteration spell tomes in my youth, what can I say? You're off already? It's barely light out.”

 

“I've got a long journey ahead,” said Delphine, reaching for her smallclothes and armour... if she could find them, that is. “Need to get going.”

 

“Should have guessed,” Brynjolf grunted, and Delphine felt her heart constrict as she practically heard the masks going up. “You were always bad at saying goodbyes. Dibella forbid anyone might think you'd miss them.”

 

“That's not true, Brynjolf,” said Delphine, finally tracking down her underpants and breast-coverings. “It's just people who know too much about me tend to end up dead and not pleasantly either.”

 

“Oh for the love of Mara,” Brynjolf snapped. “Absolutely no Thalmor agent is going to get their hands on me any time soon. You could at least look at me. I know – Delphine, I can tell it didn't work, whatever you were trying to achieve. That man of yours is still very much in your blood, isn't he? Cicero, is it?”

 

Delphine froze. She twisted round to face him.

 

“How did you know his name?” she hissed. Brynjolf backed off, hands held up in an attempt to placate her.

 

“Easy, lass,” he said, deliberately lowering his voice to a more gentle tone. “You whispered his name in your sleep, that's all.”

 

“I talk in my _sleep??_ ” Delphine practically screeched, panicking now. Divines, why had no one ever told her this? How much of a security risk was she presenting every time her head hit the pillow? Of course, she belatedly realised, it might be more of one if anyone ever shared her bed...

 

“Mara, could you be any more paranoid?” Brynjolf rolled his eyes. “That's all you said, Delphine, just his name a couple of times. It's an Imperial name, but honestly, it's not that rare, there must be a thousand of them out in Cyrodiil.”

 

“Oh no, this one's fairly unique,” said Delphine, smiling fondly. She finally met Brynjolf's eyes. “I'm sorry, Brynjolf. Last night was fun, it really was... and thank you. Believe it or not, it did help, knowing I've got a choice and that by choosing him I'm not just settling for whoever will have me.”

 

“Glad to be of service,” said Brynjolf, but he looked anything but. “Ah well, you did say you wanted no strings attached. Guess I shouldn't complain. But if he turns out to be not what you want after all, or if it goes wrong, you come find me. Especially if he gets unreasonable or breaks your heart. I'm more than willing to break a few fingers if he needs the error of his ways explaining to him.”

 

“You're all heart, Bryn,” Delphine laughed. “But thank you. And if things ever do get out of hand, I may need you. I'm under no illusions regarding the fact he's dangerous and not altogether stable. But I don't think he would harm me, not so long as I stayed true to our organisation's ideals. He does have principles.”

 

“Aye, well. I kept you safe from the Thalmor, I can keep you safe from murderous ex-partners if it comes to that,” Brynjolf shrugged. “If he messes with the Guild, he'll end up sleeping with the slaughterfish soon enough, don't you worry, lass.”

 

“Lake Honrich doesn't have any slaughterfish,” Delphine felt obliged to point out.

 

“For someone who breaks your heart, I'll find some and dump them in there with him,” Brynjolf promised. “After I've sliced him up a bit of course – blood attracts them, you know.”

 

“I think it was me who first told you,” said Delphine, pulling on her armour and backing away. “Don't you think you're getting a little too into this scenario?”

 

“I can but hope,” Brynjolf sighed. “I need to have something to keep me entertained through the long, lonely nights without your company, don't I now, lass?”

 

“You managed before,” said Delphine, finishing with her armour and reaching for her weapons.

 

“I didn't know what I was missing before,” said Brynjolf, shadows in his eyes. “But I'll live. Go on, go. Best you get out of here before Delvin sees you, or I'll never hear the end of it.”

 

Delphine agreed, knowing Delvin and his penchant for lascivious commentary on his guildmates' love lives all too well, and soon she was gone, slipping away into a Riften barely waking up and on to the early carriage to Whiterun, leaving behind Brynjolf, staring at a stolen cask of Honningbrew Reserve and wondering if it was too early to start drinking.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Brother Verulus followed Cicero as the little jester led him along the roads of the Reach, wondering what on earth he'd got himself into. The jester's stories of tombs filled with gold, needing the assistance of a priest of Arkay to lay the dead to rest properly, hadn't sounded terribly plausible if he was honest, but he was bound to prevent the dead rising where possible, and the gold had clinched the deal. However, looking around the tomb Cicero had led him to was starting to make him wonder if this had been a good idea.

 

“What did you say this place was?” he asked, as Cicero led him up the final slope to where the iron doors stood.

 

“Reachcliff Cavern,” said Cicero calmly. “Do not fear, dear Brother, Cicero has scouted it, yes. The upper levels are quite safe, and the Draugr are dead there – Cicero merely needs the remains sanctified. Cicero is most concerned for the immortal souls of the slain, yes.”

 

Verulus personally suspected that Cicero was more concerned about the gems buried with said slain than the state of their souls, but decided not to say anything. As long as he got a cut, he was fine with that.

 

Cicero opened the doors and skipped down the winding passageway that led inside, chanting something about a baker not being dead, just faking. Verulus had to hope the upper levels actually were safe, because this jester was likely to bring half the Draugr in the place down on them, carrying on like that. Did the man even know the meaning of stealth?

 

The bloodstains on the floor as they arrived into a lobby area should have been his first clue, as should the trail into the temple area that Cicero skipped blithely into, not a care in the world. Then Verulus noticed that the place was brightly lit and several people were seated round a long table, looking as if they were enjoying a feast.

 

“What is this?” Verulus asked, reaching for his dagger. “Cicero? What's going on?”

 

A woman in light armour stepped forward, smiling as she reached out a hand.

 

“Don't be afraid, Brother Verulus. You're among friends now.”

 

“Friends... yes. Friends,” Verulus whispered, fog filling his mind. Tired, so tired, and hungry too. A nice nap and a glass of mead, yes, just what he wanted.

 

“We've invited you for dinner,” the woman continued. “But you look tired. Why not come with me and have a lie down before we start the meal?”

 

“Sleepy, yes, yes I am,” Verulus murmured, still confused but pleased by the hospitality on offer. A nice meal with good friends and fine wine seemed just the thing... but a nap would be better. Taking the woman's hand, he let her lead him to a stone bench that looked tailor made for the purpose. Climbing onto it and lying down, he let sleep take him.

 

Eola looked at the sleeping priest fondly and beckoned Cicero over.

 

“Meal's on the table, Cicero. Why don't you carve?”

 

Cicero did not need to be told twice. This... this was what he lived for. Drawing his daggers, he barely stopped himself moaning as his blades sank into the priest's chest. Blood spurted out as the priest breathed his last and Cicero staggered back, a little overcome by the thrill of finally getting to kill again. It had been so long...

 

Cat-like, Cicero wiped the blood off his face and licked his fingers clean, before wiping his blades off on the priest's robes. Always look after your blades, and they'll look after you, Cicero's early mentors had told him, and he'd never forgotten it.

 

“Felt good, didn't it?” said Eola, clearly pleased with herself. “I knew I was right about you. You're just too perfect.”

 

Cicero could only nod. “Now what?”

 

“Now, we feast. Eat up, Cicero, don't want to let your food go cold, do you?”

 

Cicero's post-kill euphoria abruptly faded. “Eola wants poor Cicero to... eat the body?”

 

Eola nodded. “That's right. See it as a test of your sincerity. You can hardly expect me to join your group if you won't join in with mine, can you?”

 

Cicero looked down at the body, feeling his stomach clench. The things he did for the Night Mother... Drawing a dagger, he carved off some meat – no need to tear at it with his teeth like some savage after all – and closing his eyes, swallowed it down. Somehow, he managed not to be sick afterwards.

 

“There, you're one of us now!” Eola said, patting Cicero on the back. “Don't worry if you feel a little nauseous at first – it happens a lot to new members at first. Been so long since they had a decent meal, their body can't process good food properly until they get used to it.”

 

Cicero just nodded, eyes watering. He hoped this had been worth it. Then the voice spoke, and from the awed reactions of the rest of the coven, Cicero could tell this was no head voice.

 

“Well done, mortal,” a woman's voice drawled, echoing around the cave. “Namira is satisfied with your efforts in restoring her shrine, and the sacrifice and consumption of the flesh and blood of one of Arkay's is... pleasing to me. Kill often in my name, my Champion, kill often and well. And when you feed on the flesh of your prey, wear this ring and gain my power as you feed.”

 

Cicero watched, awestruck, as a ring materialised on his finger, and Eola could barely take her eyes off it.

 

“Namira has named you as her Champion!” she gasped. “Well now, Cicero, this changes everything. I must confess I wasn't sure I was actually going to take you up on your offer, but if Namira herself has chosen you to bear her Ring... Cicero, I'd be honoured to accept your invitation to join the Dark Brotherhood.”

 

“You... would? Eola will be my Dark Sister?” Cicero could barely contain his glee. It had worked, it had actually worked, and now the Night Mother had another child.

 

“Eola will,” said Eola. “This coven's been around for thousands of years before I was even born, it'll survive without me now the shrine's back in use. Lead the way, Champion.”


	4. A Blade in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly constituted Dark Brotherhood of Blades is coming together nicely with its first real recruit and the beginnings of a dragon hunting plan. However, an investigatory field trip to Kynesgrove leaves them all none the wiser. While Delphine heads off to plan their next move, Cicero and Eola find themselves at a loose end...

It was late when Delphine finally made it back to the Sleeping Giant. Midnight, and Sven was packing up his lute, while the last of the inn's patrons filed out, even Embry the town drunk. Orgnar was wiping down tankards, preparing to close up for the night.

 

“Hey Orgnar,” Delphine called. “Cicero back in yet?”

 

Orgnar grunted in affirmation. “Hiding out in your room, Delphine. Brought some girl with him, blonde, Breton, could be your daughter if you'd ever bothered to have kids. Say, Delphine, are any more waifs and strays likely to be showing up with him? Cause it's getting to the stage we're running out of places for them to sleep. They're taking up beds I could be selling to paying customers. Costing a fair bit to feed 'em too.”

 

“I know,” sighed Delphine. “I am working on it, I promise. I've come into some cash, and hopefully soon I'll have another, safer place to move them all to. But for now, let me know how much they're costing, I can reimburse you. And if any travellers come in wanting a bed and there's not one free, let me know, I can move someone around. We've got some spare bed rolls, right?”

 

“A few,” Orgnar muttered. “They can't stay here forever though, Delphine.”

 

Delphine promised him that wouldn't be the case, but inside she felt far from certain. At least Cicero was quite content with a bed roll in her secret cellar, in front of the Night Mother. Where she was going to put the newest recruit was anyone's guess, and if she was honest, Orgnar's description of her as a younger, prettier version of Delphine herself had unsettled her a little. Taking a deep breath, she slipped into her room, secured the door and made her way into the cellar.

 

Cicero was already there, candles lit and the Night Mother on display. He was sitting cross-legged in front of her, explaining the Night Mother's life story and history and impressing on whoever was listening how she was their Mother and must always be treated with nothing less than the utmost devotion and respect.

 

“My heart belongs to Lady Namira, as you know,” a female voice responded, accent not far different to Delphine's own. “But I can be perfectly respectful to other gods. Tell me, when she killed the children Sithis gave her, did she eat their flesh afterwards?”

 

Delphine hadn't expected that question, and the ghoulish pleasure in the girl's voice gave her pause as she wondered just what Cicero had recruited. Still, they were a society of professional murderers. Expecting them to attract the sane and well-adjusted might be a little optimistic.

 

“Cicero does not think Dark Brotherhood history recorded that,” Cicero replied and to his credit, even he sounded a little unnerved. “But I am sure she would have done had she believed Sithis desired it.”

 

The new recruit laughed with delight. “Nice answer, Champ. I'm impressed. And she really talks?”

 

“She does,” Cicero confirmed. “But only to our mighty Listener, Delphine of the Blades. Delphine hears the Mother's voice and passes her orders on to us. You will like Delphine. Delphine is blessed by Sithis, as terrible as she is beautiful. Delphine is Eldest Sister, First among the Brotherhood, and her word is law to us. She is to be feared and loved like the Night Mother.”

 

Which was all very flattering, but Delphine could not in all honesty let this particular line of conversation continue without intervening personally.

 

“He doesn't lie,” said Delphine, stepping into the light. “But Cicero does have a bit of a tendency to exaggerate. My name's Delphine, I am the Listener, but as for fear and love, I'll settle for discretion, loyalty and doing what you're told.”

 

“LISTENER!!!” Cicero shrieked, scrambling to his feet and launching himself at her. Before Delphine had time to react, Cicero had wrapped himself around her, head resting on her shoulder as he set about attempting to hug the life out of her. “Listener, Listener, Cicero has missed you so much, my Listener, Cicero was worried when he returned first, in case the nasty Thieves Guild had got to you.”

 

“It's good to see you again too, Cicero,” said Delphine, finding herself unable to stop smiling as she put her arms around Cicero and a feeling of being home settled deep into her bones. “And I see your mission was successful. Going to introduce me to our new recruit?”

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Cicero, releasing her and bounding over to the other woman's side. “Eola, this is Delphine, our Listener to the Unholy Matron's words. Listener, this... this is Eola. She has not worked as an assassin before, but she is skilled with magic and swordcraft, and she's a worshipper of the Daedric Prince Namira, whose rites regularly required wielding knives against the unworthy.”

 

“Namira found them worthy enough after we'd killed them,” Eola grinned, stepping forward with her hand outstretched. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Cicero's talked about you non-stop all the way from Markarth.”

 

“Likewise,” said Delphine, eyeing up the younger woman as she shook hands. She had to admit, she was impressed, and Orgnar hadn't been wrong about the resemblance either. This one was strong, confident... and a potential leader. One to watch, clearly. Delphine was just rather glad that being Listener was not something one achieved merely by murdering the previous incumbent. “Did you say you were a Namira worshipper? Cicero, is that... allowed?”

 

Cicero nodded happily. “Sithis is not a jealous god, my Delphine. Many of my former Dunmer brothers and sisters still worshipped Boethiah and Azura on the side, and we had a few Sanguine and Dibella devotees. As long as they served Sithis by their deeds, the Brotherhood was content. Which also means, my Listener, you do not need to keep hiding your amulet of Talos whenever you think I'm looking.”

 

“I do not keep hiding-” Delphine started, then gave up on remembering that she had been doing exactly that. “So, Eola, how exactly did Cicero find you? The Night Mother wasn't terribly specific, and she certainly never mentioned a Namira cult. Don't the rites of Namira involve desecrating corpses?”

 

“Depends on how you define desecration,” Eola shrugged. “The priests of Arkay would call it that. So do most people, actually, but most people are fools. Doesn't matter though, Namira knows her own. When we were driven from our shrine by Draugr, I took refuge in the Hall of the Dead in Markarth, which is where Cicero found me. I could tell from the start he wasn't like the rest of them. I see the dead and my mouth grows wet – he sees the living and imagines them as corpses. You can see how we complement each other nicely.”

 

A bit too nicely for Delphine's liking but she nodded at Eola and indicated for her to go on.

 

“So we talked and we made a bargain,” Eola continued. “If he helped retake our shrine and rededicate it to Namira, I'd join the Brotherhood. Delphine, he did more than help, Namira was so pleased with him that after the rites were done, she gave him her Ring and named him her Champion. After that, how could I not follow where he led? I'll follow Namira's Keeper of the Ring, and he seems to follow you. If that means working for you, I'll gladly do it.” Eola tilted her head to one side. “You know, you're a lot more down to earth than he made out. Cicero talked like you were some kind of goddess, or insane mystic living half in another world, but you're actually quite sane and practical.”

 

“One of us has to be,” said Delphine dryly. “As I said, Cicero does take his devotion to the Night Mother very seriously and that has a tendency to colour his vision a little. Glad to have you aboard, Eola.”

 

“Glad to be here. I just have one question – am I allowed to dedicate my kills to Namira?” Eola asked.

 

“Dedicate them to Namira how?” Delphine asked warily, glancing at Cicero who was standing quietly in a corner, head bowed and hands behind his back.

 

“Eola wishes to know if she can feast on the flesh of the dead after she has killed them,” said Cicero softly, not even looking in Delphine's direction. Delphine, her fears confirmed, fought back a wave of nausea, before turning back to Eola.

 

“I won't lie to you, it won't always be possible,” said Delphine, wondering, not for the first time, just how her life had come to this. “Sometimes the client has specific requests about how the kill is to be carried out, or how the body is found, and those times, you won't have much of a choice. Mostly though, we just want them dead and we won't care how you do it. Which means if you want to, and stopping to eat isn't going to mean you get caught... go ahead.”

 

Eola practically bounced on the spot. “Yes! Thank you! I promise you, I will be the best assassin ever. Well, apart from the Champion here,” she added after Cicero coughed rather pointedly.

 

“I'm sure you will,” said Delphine. “Why don't you head on upstairs and get some sleep? Take the room across the inn, I think they're both empty.”

 

After Eola had gone, Delphine turned to Cicero, arms folded.

 

“These rites of Namira she made you take part in. Did you at any point have to eat part of a dead body?”

 

Cicero hesitated, before it burst out of him in a plaintive wail.

 

“It was for the Night Mother!” Cicero cried. “Cicero is very sorry, and hopes Delphine will forgive him and not hold it against him. Cicero has no intention of doing it again. Cicero belongs to Sithis and the Night Mother... and to the Night Mother's true Listener. Cicero did it for the Night Mother... but if it means Delphine finds him repulsive now, Cicero... regrets it deeply.” His voice cracked a little, and Delphine felt her heart go out to the little jester as he wiped a tear away. By all rights, she should be recoiling in disgust, and if she was honest, part of her was. He was still very much her Dragonborn though, and really it was frightening how it wasn't putting her off. The man had balls, she had to give him that. Not many would have nibbled on a body to get the job done.

 

“Come here,” said Delphine gently, holding out her arms to him. Sniffling, Cicero stepped forward and let himself be cuddled. “I'm impressed by your willingness to see your mission through, and I'm touched by your loyalty. Here, for you, seeing as it turns out you know about it after all.” She reached for her amulet of Talos and draped it around Cicero's neck. Cicero stared at it, speechless.

 

“Talos is the Dragonborn who founded an Empire and became a god,” said Delphine. “All the Blades revered him, it's why the Thalmor hated us so. I'm not expecting you to live up to that standard, but you could do worse than to pray to him for victory against the dragons. Not sure how Talos feels about the Dark Brotherhood, he had a warrior's honour after all. But if you stay strong and keep fighting, he'll protect you, Dragonborn. Also, that amulet is just an amulet to an ordinary man or woman, but to a Dragonborn? It's a source of power, letting you Shout more often. I think you could use that.”

 

Cicero looked like he was about to cry again. “Delphine mustn't... she shouldn't! This is her tie to her god, Cicero cannot take it from her, not when he's not even a Talos worshipper.”

 

“That's just it, Cicero, you don't have to worship him!” Delphine sighed. “You and he, you're brother Dragonborns! You fight dragons, he gives you power to do it. You should have this. I want you to have it. I can't have my Dragonborn going into battle without Talos' protection, it wouldn't be right. And there will be battle soon, Cicero. Count on it.”

 

Cicero fingered the amulet, before looking up at Delphine, a cruel smile forming on his face.

 

“Cicero thanks Delphine then. Cicero shall wear it with pride and use it well. When he fights and kills, he shall think of her generosity and dedicate his kills to his dearest Listener. Send your Cicero into battle – he shall lay dragon corpses at your feet and build you a throne of dragon bone.”

 

“Add in a few Thalmor as well and you got yourself a deal, Dragonborn,” Delphine laughed, stroking his face and feeling a rush of pride. Hers, he was hers, insane and broken maybe, but lethal and strong regardless, and together they could slaughter them all, dragon and Thalmor alike, and dance together in the blood afterwards, and he would not run from her darkness in fear, but share in it joyfully. In that moment, she knew she'd chosen the right one.

 

“Get some sleep, Cicero,” she told him. “Tomorrow, we make plans, and we'll be on the road soon enough. But for now, rest. You have more than earned it.”

 

Cicero hugged her again, and tumbled into his little bedroll after blowing out the candles near the Night Mother. Delphine took care of the rest, and shot him one last look before heading up the stairs. He was watching her go, a smile on his face that spoke of happiness and cruelty in equal measure. Delphine took its memory away with her, certain she would dream of both love and blood that night. She was right.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The following day found Eola and Cicero sitting at the table in Delphine's cellar room, having breakfast while Delphine outlined their next move. Cicero was nibbling on a sweetroll while Eola was cheerfully cracking open a set of ribs and devouring the marrow. Delphine could only be thankful that Orgnar had assured her the ribs definitely came from a cow. Running a Dark Brotherhood cell from a simple country inn was one thing, but Delphine wasn't sure she could live with herself if villagers started to go missing. Fortunately Eola seemed content to dine on animals... for now.

 

“So,” Delphine began, “first thing you've got to understand is that before the Night Mother called me as Listener, I was a Blade, and have been since I was about twenty. Was in the Imperial Legion before that – joined them at age 16 as a raw recruit.”

 

“The Blades, weren't they some sort of Imperial spy network?” Eola asked. “Thought they were disbanded years ago.”

 

“We were,” said Delphine. “But we kept going in secret, even while the Thalmor hunted us. I stayed on the move, kept hiding, avoided tracking down any other Blades, and now I've lost all contact. Most of the ones I knew that survived the war were older than me, they're probably all dead by now anyway. As far as I know, I'm the last. But we were more than spies and bodyguards. We're an ancient order of dragonslayers, and we're sworn to find, guard and protect the ultimate dragonslayers – the Dragonborns.”

 

Eola's eyes widened. “The Dragonborn – I've heard of him. They say one's been called to High Hrothgar for the first time since ever – is that true?”

 

Delphine nodded, indicating Cicero, who had gone as scarlet as his outfit and was staring at his sweetroll. “You're sitting next to him.”

 

“Get out of here – you're telling me he's not just Namira's Chosen and the Dark Brotherhood's finest, he's a Dragonborn as well? He eats dragon souls when they die?” Eola looked at Cicero, new respect in her eyes. “Didn't think anyone could eat a dragon, there's nothing but charred bones left when they die. Eating its soul though, that's impressive.”

 

“Cicero does not exactly eat it,” Cicero muttered. “Cicero just... absorbs it.”

 

“And you're likely to get to see him in action soon enough,” Delphine promised. “But back to business. Cicero had just been called as Dragonborn when I met him – that's how we ended up working together. I'm a Blade and I swore to protect and guide the Dragonborn – any Dragonborn. So I took him under my wing. Then I met the Night Mother... and she named me Listener. Now I guess the Blades and Brotherhood have merged, which means we've got two missions – carry out contracts that the Night Mother gives us... and in between times, investigate why dragons are coming back and stopping them whenever we can. We've got one big contract on the go at the moment, which I'll come on to a bit later, but right now, I want to focus on dragons. The Night Mother's told me that if we follow the dragons, we'll get a proper headquarters out of it. I don't know how that'll happen, but she was right about finding you, so I'm inclined to trust her. So. Dragons.”

 

“Dragons,” Eola nodded, wiping her fingers on a napkin, the ribs finally well stripped of meat. “What do we know so far?”

 

“Not a lot,” Delphine admitted. “But I have a couple of leads. First is this map.” She indicated the map of Skyrim spread out before her, with dots marked all over it, some crossed out, and one just south of Windhelm with a circle drawn round it. Cicero and Eola both peered at it, curious.

 

“Cicero is wondering what the dots are for,” said Cicero, tracing one of them. “They are not towns, surely? Skyrim does not have so many.”

 

“Are they dragon attacks?” Eola asked, frowning. “But why are some crossed off?”

 

“Close,” said Delphine, impressed with the younger woman's perceptiveness. “They're dragon burial mounds. You see, dragons weren't gone somewhere all these years, they were dead. The ancient Nords and the original Blades killed them, and this is where they were buried. They're not just coming back, they are coming back to _life_.” Delphine paused for dramatic effect to let that sink in. Both of her comrades looked suitably appalled.

 

“Dragon necromancy? Who would do such a thing? Who _could_ do such a thing?” Eola whispered.

 

“Cicero does not know, but Cicero does not approve,” said Cicero, thin-lipped. “Dead should stay dead. Coming back to life is against everything the Brotherhood stands for.”

 

“When it comes to dragons, most would agree with you,” said Delphine. “I don't know who might be behind this exactly, but my gut tells me it's the Thalmor. They've got plenty of wizards who might be able to resurrect a dragon, and they've got the motive too. Think about where the first one attacked – Helgen, right as they were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak. The war was virtually over – with Ulfric dead, the rebellion would have fizzled out and the rebel Jarls would have gone back to the Empire. Then the dragon turns up, Ulfric escapes and the war's back on. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?”

 

“Would Delphine like her Cicero to break in to the Thalmor Embassy and kill them all?” Cicero asked, fingering his dagger. “Cicero would not find it any trouble, Cicero assures her.”

 

“Hmm, Altmer,” Eola murmured. “I've not had Altmer in ages. So tender, like chicken except golden and so sweet and juicy. Goes nicely with Alto wine, I must make sure to take a bottle with me.”

 

“Both of you, be patient, all in good time!” said Delphine, pleased by their enthusiasm but wishing it could take a slightly less bloodthirsty tone. “You can't just walk into the Thalmor Embassy, the place is locked up tight. That's something I'll need to think about. First though, we need to find out if it is actually them raising dragons.” She jabbed the map again. “That's where we're in luck. There's a pattern to the mounds. It's starting from the south-east, near Riften, and it's spreading out from there. Looking at the ones that have been opened so far, I've worked out where the next will happen.” She indicated the circled dot. “Kynesgrove, just outside Windhelm. That's where we're going today. If we're lucky, we might be able to stop it happening.”

 

“Stop it happening,” Cicero hissed, eyes narrowing. “Kill nasty Thalmor Elves before they can let the dragon loose, yes!”

 

“Mmm, roast Elf,” said Eola dreamily. “With a pinch of salt and a bit of lavender, I think. All that magicka in the meat, offset by the magic resistance in the lavender – marvellous!”

 

“Kynesgrove,” said Delphine firmly, rolling up the map. “Dragon. We're going to watch and learn, and before it rises, we're going to kill it and whoever fool's decided to raise the damn thing. Get your things together, my assassins. We've got some killing to do.”

 

That met with squeals of approval as her protégées swung into action. Delphine smiled as she reached for her own weapons and armour. Yes, the gods might have landed her with a psychotic murdering jester with mother issues, and a Daedra-worshipping cannibal... but in all honesty, Delphine had worked with worse. That dragon wouldn't know what had hit it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Delphine crouched behind a rock, flinching as the biggest dragon she'd ever seen hovered above, the sweep of its wings causing mini-gales that could easily send someone sprawling if they weren't careful. Eola was crouching next to the rock opposite, blue mage armour outlining her and spells in hand. Behind her, Cicero had his bow at the ready, taking careful aim at the black dragon. It was saying something in that harsh language of theirs, but Delphine had no idea what. Dark magic was pouring off the mound, a column of viciously spiralling light firing upwards into the sky.

 

“ _Slen Tiid Vo_ ,” the dragon snarled, and the mound exploded. Delphine ducked, pulling Cicero down with her to avoid the stone flying everywhere. She heard Eola cry out, and looked up to see the other woman staring at the mound, horrified. She followed her gaze and felt herself grow cold as she watched a dragon skeleton crawl out of the grave, light and fire blazing along it as its flesh began to regrow.

 

“Wrong, wrong!” Cicero muttered, re-aiming, this time at the skeletal dragon. “Dead should stay _dead!_ ”

 

The black dragon had been talking while this was going on, before laughing and switching to Tamrielic.

 

“You do not even speak our tongue, do you?” it rasped. “So arrogant, to call yourself a Dovah when you have not even the power of the least of us. Little fool, you will soon learn your mistake. Sahloknir, _krii daar joorre!_ ” The black dragon flapped its wings and was gone... but the other one, Sahloknir, still remained. Not only did it remain, it was coming right for them.

 

“It shall be an honour to do my lord's will in this, Dovahkiin,” Sahloknir growled. Delphine realised what he was about to do, and pushed Cicero to the ground, shielding him as a jet of flame roared over their heads. Eola meanwhile had summoned an Atronach and was now firing lightning at the dragon. With a roar, Sahloknir took to the air as Delphine and Cicero scrambled to their feet, both preparing their bows. Arrows flew and magic blazed, and the dragon swerved out of the way of both. Then it made the mistake of landing. Right next to Delphine.

 

“Protector of the Dovahkiin, you shall die first, while he watches!” Sahloknir hissed, preparing to breathe fire.

 

“I'll take you with me if you do, dragon!” Delphine snapped, drawing her sword. Before she could even strike a blow, Cicero had leapt as if from nowhere, pouncing on top of the dragon, grabbing it by the horns with one arm and slashing at it with a sword as it tried desperately to throw him off.

 

“Dragon will not hurt Delphine!” Cicero snarled, features locked in a rictus of rage. “Not... my... Del... phine!” Each syllable was punctuated by another stab wound. Delphine took full advantage. Running to the dragon's right and motioning for Eola to take the other side, she drew her sword down the dragon's flank, opening it up and nearly taking the wing off. Eola did likewise with her own blade and cast some frost magic at it for good measure. Between the three of them, it didn't take long. The dragon roared its last and collapsed, dead. Cicero rolled off it and looked up sharply, watching for his companions. On seeing Delphine, he rushed towards her and hugged her tightly.

 

“Delphine is safe?” he murmured.

 

“I'm fine,” said Delphine. “Are you?”

 

“Dragon threatened to kill Delphine,” Cicero scowled. “Cicero... Cicero does not like it when people do that, and so now the dragon is dead.”

 

“Many people would like to see me dead,” said Delphine. “No one's managed it yet, and I don't think that dragon would have done either. You don't need to worry about me, Cicero.”

 

“Cicero knows he doesn't need to, but Cicero still does,” said Cicero, eyes closed and head resting against her shoulder.

 

“That's very cute,” Eola commented, arms folded as she watched, sly grin firmly in place. “I knew he had a thing for you, had no idea it was mutual.”

 

“Don't you have corpses to go nibble on?” Delphine glared at her. Eola laughed, held up her hands and went in search of that dead town guard they'd seen earlier. As she left, the dragon's soul boiled up out of it and roared down into Cicero, who trembled in Delphine's arms under the impact.

 

“Not again, not again!” he whimpered. “This one doesn't just hate me, it's under orders to kill! Listener, Delphine, help me! It's burning me inside!”

 

“Cicero, stop it,” Delphine shook him a little. “Stop it right now. You're Dragonborn and Sithis-blessed, you're more than a match for it!”

 

Cicero shook his head. “I can't. I'm sorry, I can't fight it, not this time. Cicero says to tell you goodbye and that he's always l-”

 

“Not another word, jester,” Delphine hissed, losing patience and definitely not wanting to think about the slow welling-up of panic at the back of her mind. “You get back here right now!”

 

Cicero just wailed, eyes rolling upwards as he began to shudder and shake, a fit taking him. Delphine laid him on the ground, feeling the panic getting stronger. What if she couldn't help him this time? What then? What was a Blade without a Dragonborn, the Night Mother with no Keeper? She couldn't stop this alone. Feeling desperate, she reached for her amulet of Talos, only to remember she'd given it to Cicero. To Cicero...

 

Reaching inside his leather cuirass, she grabbed the amulet and clutched it tight.

 

“Talos Stormcrown, hear me now! I, Delphine of the Blades, invoke you and call you to the aid of your brother Dragonborn, Cicero the Keeper. Help him fight the dragon in his mind, help him and heal him, let him come into his own as Dragonborn. This I do ask you, in the name of Akatosh, of Kyne, of Mara, of Shor. Talos help me, may the Stormcrown come!”

 

Delphine was unprepared for the rush of power that shot down her spine and into her hand, causing her to drop the amulet in shock. The small axe was glowing as it fell back onto Cicero, and he screamed in pain as his entire body began to glow. Cicero thrashed around a few times, face twisted in agony, and then the light faded and he collapsed, breathing heavily and sweat coating him. But alive and calm, and Delphine could only hope his mind had also survived the encounter.

 

“Cicero?” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “Cicero, are you alright? Can you talk?”

 

Cicero, to her relief, squeezed back, eyes slowly opening. “Delphine?” he whispered.

 

“I'm here,” Delphine reassured him. “What happened?”

 

“Cicero... is not sure. There was an angry dragon, and fire... and then this golden net trapped it, and a cage appeared, and it is in there now. Cicero does not think it can get out. Cicero... Cicero does not know how, but he thinks he knows how to capture them properly now. Did... did Delphine do that?”

 

Delphine helped him sit up, an arm around him. “Not me. Talos. I prayed for help, as a Blade, and he helped you. Through that amulet I gave you.”

 

Cicero fingered it gently. “Then I will wear it always, in gratitude. It is very strange,” he said, frowning. “Cicero's mind is so much calmer now. I do not – Cicero does not – the cage is slowing my thoughts down. So fast they were, so mutable, flowing from one thing to another. Now... now they are calmer. They do not shift into something else before Cicero can fully grasp them any more. Cicero...” Here he looked up at her, alarmed. “Is Cicero still Cicero like this??”

 

“You'll always be my Cicero,” Delphine promised, smiling. “But it looks like Talos may have done a little more than just help you deal with dragon souls. Looks like he may have fixed your own up a little.”

 

Cicero scowled at this. “Cicero did not ask for that! Cicero can still kill, yes? Cicero will still feel the joy as the blade sinks in and the blood pools out on the floor and the life... goes... out...” Cicero's eyes had glazed over and a dreamy little smile settled on his face.

 

“I think it's safe to say that you're still a murderous son of a Hagraven,” said Delphine, getting to her feet and helping him do likewise. “Come on, let's find Eola.”

 

Eola, when they found her, was merrily engaged in carving flesh off a charred guard. “One for the pouch, one for me. One for the pouch, one for me,” she chanted as she alternated stashing some away for future consumption and wolfing down the rest. “Hey, my siblings in Sithis. Want some crackling? It's lovely and tender.”

 

“I'm not hungry,” said Delphine, truthfully enough as her appetite had a tendency to flee at the sight of blood and fat trickling down Eola's fingers as she ate.

 

“All the more for me,” Eola grinned, wiping her fingers clean. “Everything alright? I heard shouting.”

 

“Cicero occasionally has difficulty absorbing dragon souls, but I think we found a solution,” said Delphine. “We should be fine now.”

 

“Dragon burned, dragon dead, locked in a cage in Cicero's head,” Cicero chanted. Clearly whatever Talos had done to the jester's mind, it hadn't taken away his love of rhyming couplets.

 

“Well, that's good, right?” said Eola. “But the black one got away, so how do we find that one? I tell you, I'm not sure I'd want to face it again.”

 

“Nor I,” said Delphine sombrely. “Dragons raising other dragons, it's far worse than I thought. But that still doesn't tell us where that black dragon came from. Damn it, we're stumbling around in the dark! We still don't know a thing! And now it turns out the Thalmor aren't even involved.”

 

Eola's shoulders drooped. “No tasty Altmer flesh? That's a shame.”

 

“Cicero could kill Thalmor for you anyway?” Cicero suggested. “Stab stab stab stab stab nasty Elves!” He did a little dance on the spot, miming stabbing a Thalmor. Delphine looked thoughtful.

 

“It's still a possibility. Maybe they're not involved but they might know who is. At any rate, it's our only lead. I'll need to think about how we're going to do this, talk to a few contacts, call in a few favours. It's not going to be easy, but there might be a way. Tell you what, you two head back to Riverwood. I'll meet you there in a few days, once I've had time to do some digging, and then we'll set our plans in motion. How does that sound?”

 

“Will you be gone long?” Cicero asked softly, looking a bit forlorn. Delphine felt her heart go out to him, but really, this was something best done alone. A simple reconnaissance mission, and one in which she didn't want any of her contacts scared off by Cicero.

 

“Not long,” she promised. “Besides, if we both go, Eola might get lonely.”

 

“I might?” Eola said before noticing the look Delphine gave her. “Oh! Yes, of course, you weren't thinking of leaving me on my own, I hope, Champion? I'll need an escort back to Riverwood, and it'll be a lot more fun with two of us.”

 

“Fun, yes,” Cicero sighed, before shrugging, giving Delphine a hug and bouncing over to Eola's side. “Cicero shall do as Delphine says and keep Eola company while Delphine does important work, yes he shall.”

 

“Good, that's settled then. I'll see you both at home,” said Delphine, and she was soon gone, taking the road north, leaving the two others behind.

 

“Cicero shall miss her,” said Cicero sadly. Eola nudged him gently.

 

“Hey, Champion. She'll be fine, and it won't be long. In the mean time, looks like we have a week off. Wanna do some sightseeing? Kill a few people? Eat their flesh in the name of Namira?”

 

“Perhaps,” said Cicero, brightening up at the prospect of a few kills. He glanced into the distance, where the cone of Bonestrewn Crest rose in the distance, the unmistakeable silhouette of a hovering dragon causing some indescribable thrill to run down his spine. “Want to take down another dragon?”

 

Eola's eyes lit up. “Oh yes. Let's kill someone,” she breathed.


	5. The Black Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Delphine busy, Cicero and Eola have been left to their own devices. Of course, they can't go for five minutes without finding trouble, as is proved by a simple sightseeing trip to a Daedric Shrine turning into a little adventure of its own.

The following day, and Eola was wondering why this had ever seemed like a good idea. In the warmth and camaraderie of the New Gnisis Cornerclub, visiting the Shrine of Azura ('less than four hours out of Windhelm!' their informant had said) had seemed like an ideal way to spend a day. Of course, that had been before the dragon. And the wolves. And the ice wraiths. And the bandit highwaymen. And now the troll. All in all, while 'only four hours' hadn't seemed long, what they'd not taken into account was that it was snow, ice and wild beasts all the way. Right now, Eola was regretting ever having come along and wondering why her fellow Daedra worshippers couldn't build their shrines a little closer to civilisation.

 

Cicero decapitated the troll without fuss and turned to face her.

 

“Is this shrine much further?” he asked, looking as fed up as she felt.

 

“According to the map, it's just up the hill,” said Eola.

 

“According to the map, it has been just up the hill for the last hour,” Cicero grumbled. “Whose idea was this?”

 

“That Dunmer back in Windhelm,” said Eola. “Hlaalu, was it?”

 

“Belyn Hlaalu,” Cicero muttered. “When we get back to Windhelm, Cicero will be assisting him in getting closer to Azura too – the quick way.”

 

“Come on, let's have a look,” said Eola. “If we can't see it from the top of the hill, we'll head home, OK?”

 

Cicero muttered assent, entertaining himself with fantasies of the fate Belyn Hlaalu was going to meet when he next saw him, and followed Eola up the winding mountain trail.

 

Mercifully, they turned the corner, and there it was – a statue of Azura on a giant pedestal, dominating the landscape. Cicero frown faded as he took in the sight, and Eola had to admit, it was impressive. She wished Namira could have a shrine like that, but it was unlikely to ever be – Namira's visage was off-putting to those who weren't her worshippers.

 

Cicero had already sprung forward, racing up the stairs to the top. Eola followed, curious to see what other Daedra worshippers did with their shrines. At the top, at the feet of the giant statue, was an altar... and standing at the altar was a tall Dunmer woman in blue robes. Cicero came to an abrupt halt, and it was all Eola could do not to crash in to him.

 

“There's someone here!” Cicero hissed. “Hlaalu did not say anything about priestesses!”

 

“I'm sure she won't hurt you,” Eola whispered. “But if you want to sneak away, better do it now – oh. Too late, she's seen us.”

 

The Dunmer glanced over her shoulder, a small smile on her face.

 

“Do not be afraid, my children,” she said. “Have you come to seek the wisdom of Azura?”

 

Eola nudged Cicero forward, with little success. Cicero just muttered, stared at his feet and tried to hide behind her. Eola gave up and made her way over.

 

“Hi, I'm Eola and this is Cicero. You'll have to forgive him, he's a little shy. We heard of the shrine in Windhelm and thought we would pay it a visit. Are you a priestess of Azura?”

 

The priestess nodded. “I am Aranea Ienith of the Dunmer, Azura's priestess... and I guard this shrine. I hear Azura's words, see her visions... and I have seen your coming, child of Namira.”

 

Eola gasped and reached for her sword. “How did you know that?”

 

“Azura shows me all, and she showed me your coming, Eola, Namira's priestess. She shows me other things too.” With that, she spun round to where Cicero had been creeping up behind her, and cast an Illusion spell over him. Cicero's eyes went blank and his sword slipped from his hand.

 

“What have you done to him?” said Eola, raising her own hand, Destruction magic at the ready.

 

“Nothing but prevented him killing me,” said Aranea sternly. “Believe me, had I wanted either of you dead, we would not now be talking. Perhaps we could lower weapons and talk like civilised beings?”

 

Slowly, Eola lowered her hand, replacing her sword in its scabbard. “Cicero. Come here and put your weapons away.”

 

Cicero blinked, shook his head and glared at Aranea. “You cast a spell on me!” he accused.

 

“You were creeping up on me with a dagger drawn,” Aranea replied. “Azura warned me you might try, son of Sithis. Come, sheathe your blades. Azura has a task for you that will serve them better.”

 

“Task?” Cicero asked warily, determinedly not lowering his daggers. “What sort of task?”

 

“Have you ever heard of Azura's Star?” Aranea asked.

 

Both of them nodded – who hadn't? Azura's Star, famed magical artefact that acted as a never dying soul gem. Priceless beyond compare, but no one had seen it in a generation or more.

 

“You want us to find it?” Eola asked. Aranea nodded.

 

“Yes, if you can. Azura has asked me to tell you to go to a fortress endangered by water but not touched by it and seek out the mage that can turn the brightest star as black as night. It is vague, I know.”

 

“Vague?” Eola stared. “Do you know how many fortresses there are in Skyrim? It would take years to search them all.”

 

“Are you sure Cicero can't kill her?” Cicero whined. Eola waved at him to be quiet.

 

“You will not have to search them all,” Aranea sighed. “I believe the fortress referred to is the College of Winterhold. I believe one of their mages knows where the Star is. If you can find out from them where it is and bring it back to me here for reconsecration to Azura – you can keep the Star.”

 

That got both of their attention.

 

“We'll go find it for you,” Eola promised.

 

“Shiny, shiny little star, Cicero will find you, wherever you are!” Cicero sang as he raced after Eola.

 

Aranea watched them go. She just hoped Azura wasn't making a huge mistake.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Winterhold had been easy enough to find – returning to the road and going north had brought them there, and the huge bulk of the College had been visible for about an hour before the town had been. Now Eola and Cicero were standing at the foot of the causeway leading to the College, planning their next move. Delphine would not have been proud.

 

“Why don't you go up there?” Eola nudged Cicero.

 

“Me? Why me? You're the mage, you go. Cicero will be your humble bodyguard and assistant.”

 

“I... um...” Eola hesitated, before sighing and deciding to just admit it. “They might recognise me.”

 

Cicero stopped in his tracks and turned to face her. “Does Eola mean to say that she has been to the College of Winterhold before? And Eola was planning to tell Cicero this when?”

 

“I hadn't really thought about it,” said Eola, miserable. “But I came here a few years back to learn magic, and stayed as an apprentice here for the best part of two years. Right up until some other students and I tried to summon a Dremora. I mean, it worked, but it wasn't too pleased about being summoned and killed the others. I only survived because I already knew how to use a blade and fought it to a standstill, all the while shouting at it that I would eat its heart as an offering to Namira. It liked my spirit and let me live. Then it escaped, don't know where it went and I don't care.”

 

“They threw Eola out of the College for that?” Cicero asked. “That does not sound like what Cicero has heard of the College. Cicero has heard College mages summon all sorts of things.”

 

“It wasn't the summoning gone wrong. It wasn't even the deaths,” Eola sighed. “It was when the master mages came to investigate the noise and why a Dremora had torn out of the Midden and raced away down the causeway, and found me cracking open the femur of one of the apprentices. Apparently even the College has limits. I've not been back since.”

 

Cicero uttered a strangled cry, one hand on hip and the other covering his face. “So Eola only now tells Cicero that she cannot enter the College of Winterhold, not without either risking her life or being prepared to hand over a great deal of money to said College, money that we do not actually have, even after selling the dragon bones. Meaning Cicero, with his limited magical abilities, would need to go in there alone and pose as an apprentice.”

 

“Er... yeah,” Eola admitted. “Sorry, Champ. I'd let you keep the Star if you did it though?”

 

“That does not help Cicero, not when he is cold and hungry now, and at a loss for ideas,” said Cicero. Scowling, he kicked at a nearby snowberry bush, sending berries and snow everywhere.

 

“Sorry Cicero,” said Eola, feeling a little guilty. “Well, there's an inn in town? We could ask in there if there's a mage who studies stars? Might make it a little easier for you if you can just ask for someone by name. Plus it's getting late. I can buy you dinner?”

 

“Generous Eola will buy Cicero a sweetroll?” Cicero asked, perking up a little.

 

“Sure,” said Eola, offering him her arm. “Anything you want, Keeper of the Ring.”

 

Taking her arm, Cicero followed her, cheering up at the prospect of getting out of the snow, but still wondering how on Nirn he was meant to infiltrate a college full of mages on his own.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Luck was clearly with them. The first thing they saw on walking into the inn was the innkeeper remonstrating with a mage over his experiments.

 

“This, this is why people have a problem with your College, Nelacar!” the innkeeper snapped, walking away back to the bar. Cicero nudged Eola.

 

“He might know,” Cicero murmured. “Eola should talk to him.”

 

“Why me?” Eola whispered back.

 

“Because Eola's inability to restrain her appetites means we can't get into the College direct, therefore Eola should interrogate the mage we can talk to. Does Eola not agree?” Cicero's expression managed to combine polite inquiry with stern disapproval in a way Eola had not experienced since leaving her family home all those years ago. Eola gave in.

 

“Fine, I'll talk to him. Here, I'll get you dinner and a drink, you sit over there and talk to no one while I chat up the mage.”

 

Fortunately, it wasn't anyone she recognised. Smoothing down her hair and clothes, Eola moved in with her most charming smile in place.

 

“Hey there, did I hear you were with the College?” she asked.

 

“I prefer to work outside College precincts,” the Altmer mage sniffed. “The College authorities and I had a disagreement on suitable avenues of research, and so I prefer to work elsewhere, with greater freedom of action, but still close enough to have access to the College's archives.”

 

“Yeah, I've had my share of disagreements with the College as well,” said Eola knowingly. “But I've got a little research of my own to do, and the College is the only place that might have answers. Tell me, do you know any mages there who study stars?”

 

Nelacar went very quiet. “What manner of star study?” he asked, suspicious. “You're not a Daedra worshipper, are you?”

 

Eola widened her eyes, the very picture of innocence. “Who, me? My studies of the arcane don't really allow much time for things like that. Prefer to rely on my magic and my blade.”

 

Nelacar remained unconvinced. “Who sent you? A priestess of Azura, by any chance?”

 

“Does it matter?” Eola asked. “And you still haven't answered my question.”

 

“If you're a Daedra worshipper, we've nothing left to discuss,” said Nelacar darkly. “Especially one of Azura's. They call her a good Daedra, but she's as bad as the rest.”

 

“I'm not an Azura worshipper,” said Eola truthfully. “But I did meet one at her shrine. She told me to look for someone who might know where to find Azura's Star. I heard it was powerful. Powerful enough that someone like me might have a use for it.”

 

“Then you're a fool,” said Nelacar. “Azura's Star has driven brighter minds than yours mad. Best left alone.”

 

“But you know about it,” said Eola, sensing she was close to the truth. “You know where I might find it.”

 

Nelacar sighed. “I know where it was last taken. I don't know what's happened to it since.” He rubbed his temples, clearly torn by something.

 

“It's alright,” said Eola, summoning the charm that had made her an effective coven leader and seducer of prey. “You can tell me. Whatever it is that's bothering you. The Star clearly got to you – if you tell me what happened, maybe I can help you lay it to rest.”

 

“Lay it to rest,” Nelacar laughed. “Well, that would be a relief, to know the whole sordid business was done. All right. I'll tell you where the Star is, if you promise to bring it back to me. It was damaged when I last saw it, but I might be able to fix it for you. Or you can just keep it. Anything, as long as you don't take it back to Azura. The Daedra are evil, all of them, even her. They care nothing for mortals. Don't trust them.”

 

Eola managed to keep her face carefully neutral. “Tell me more about this Star,” she probed. “I could certainly find a use for it myself – why should Azura have all the fun, eh?”

 

Nelacar nodded, all too willing to unburden himself now the barriers were down.

 

“I was part of Malyn Varen's research team for a number of years. He was a Dunmer mage, old even by their standards, old and dying, keen to not be either. He'd managed to acquire Azura's Star – don't ask me how – and was trying to... alter its properties.”

 

“Alter it how?” Eola asked.

 

“You are aware of how soul gems work, yes? And of the difference between black and white souls?”

 

Eola nodded. She knew enough Enchanting to be aware of the theory, despite a lack of much practical experience.

 

“Well, Azura's Star is like a Grand Soul Gem, except unlike other soul gems, it can't be destroyed. Once you spend the soul, the Star remains and can be refilled later. However, Azura placed certain protections on her Star – it will contain only white souls, not black ones. Malyn's research was focused on how to turn the Star into a receptacle for black souls as well as white ones. I believe he was trying to gain immortality by transferring his own soul into it.”

 

“An infinite Black Soul Gem,” Eola whispered. She could certainly see how that might be useful to have. “Did it work? What happened?”

 

“Azura happened,” said Nelacar, his face darkening. “The Dunmer call her a good Daedra, but she was anything but to Malyn. She took exception to him tampering with her Star, and sent him visions of horror and despair, tricked his mind and his senses. Eventually, she drove him mad. Things came to a head when he killed a student in a rage. I walked in on the aftermath and discovered him trying to feed her soul into the Star. I kept it covered up that time, but once he'd started down that path, he wouldn't stop. Kept at it, sacrificing apprentices, travellers, anyone who wouldn't be missed, until finally even the College noticed and asked him to leave. I left at the same time, but couldn't be a part of it any more. So I stayed here, and Malyn took the rest of the team to a fortress called Ilinalta's Deep, down in Falkreath. He's probably still there.”

 

“Probably,” said Eola thoughtfully. “So if I were to head out there, I might be able to locate the Star, you think?”

 

“Not without killing him and every member of his cult first,” said Nelacar. “And I'm not sure the Star will do you much good – Azura was prepared to break her own star rather than let Malyn use it. Such are the Daedra – willing to destroy even what they love to get their own way. Do not trust them, or anyone who worships them, they're evil, I tell you!” He reached out and took her hand, wide-eyed. “Don't take it back to her, to Azura. Bring it to me, and I'll cleanse it for you. Keep the Star, but don't give it to the Daedra!”

 

Shaken by his intensity, Eola could only nod, before heading back over to Cicero.

 

“Well, did Eola learn anything?” Cicero asked, picking at his sweetroll, clearly bored out of his skull.

 

“Eola learnt many things,” she purred. “Eola learnt where the Star is, who has it now, and most importantly of all, that Nelacar the mage needs to die.”

 

Cicero sat up straight at that, a broad grin spreading over his face. “Say no more, my sweet Sister. Cicero shall take care of that, and then you may get to dine on Altmer after all.”

 

The next morning, the two travellers left early. Nelacar didn't get up, but no one paid much attention to that... at least not until his mangled remains were found behind the inn, looking as if a wild beast had torn at them. The suspiciously clean throat wound made some suspicious... but the College weren't interested in a mage estranged from them, and Jarl Korir certainly wasn't displeased at there being one less mage in Winterhold, so the matter was dropped. Some said wild beasts, others said a spell gone wrong. But others whispered “Dark Brotherhood”, and unlike Nelacar the mage, such whispers are not quick to die.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Delphine still hadn't been back when they'd arrived in Riverwood, so they'd decided this was Azura's way of telling them to get on with it, and followed the White River to its source, Lake Ilinalta. From there, locating the Deep had been easy. Dealing with the necromancers inhabiting it, less so, but Cicero and Eola were nothing if not creative when it came to killing and destruction. The necromancers never really knew what hit them. After a few hours of bloodthirsty slaughter, Eola and Cicero found themselves staring down at Malyn Varen's remains and the broken thing that had been Azura's Star.

 

“Aranea's not going to be pleased at it turning up in that state,” Eola commented.

 

“Ill-tempered Dunmer should be grateful it is turning up at all,” Cicero sniffed. “Let Azura deal with her own Star – did she not break it? So deceased Nelacar said.”

 

“True,” said Eola, picking up the Star and pocketing it. “Even so, it's sad to see it like this. The Daedra deserve better. We should get this back to Aranea, you know.”

 

“And will we have time?” Cicero asked, looking nervous. “Beloved Delphine will be back by now, surely? And Winterhold is far. Let Aranea deal with Azura – we are children of the Night Mother now, and we obey our Listener.”

 

“I suppose,” Eola sighed. “But if she's still not back, how about we head up to Winterhold anyway, drop the Star off and head back? Shouldn't be more than a day or two, right?”

 

“Cicero supposes so,” Cicero muttered. “But Cicero is not happy about it.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Still no Delphine meant Cicero had to honour his word and head off to Winterhold with Eola... after checking on the Night Mother of course. However, he did insist on a carriage ride from Whiterun this time.

 

So it was that they found themselves at the Shrine of Azura again, Eola handing the Star over to Aranea.

 

“We got your Star,” said Eola. “Sorry about the state of it – it was like that when we found it.”

 

Aranea held it in her arms, cradling it like a child, her expression bittersweet.

 

“I had expected this, do not fear. Azura warned me it was tainted, but I did not think... damn necromancers!”

 

“If it is any consolation, we soul trapped one of them in his own soul gem,” said Cicero proudly, professional pride overcoming his initial dislike of the Dunmer woman. “We also gutted and strangled and stabbed and burned, and Eola has sucked marrow from the bones of about half of them.”

 

“Never had Dunmer before,” said Eola thoughtfully. “It's very smoky. Interesting flavour.”

 

“Indeed,” said Aranea, raising an eyebrow. “It is true then, about the rites of Namira involving corpse-eating. I had wondered if that was true or just exaggeration.”

 

“Oh, it's true,” said Eola cheerfully. “But, er, don't worry, I don't kill people I like.”

 

“Just mages who insult the Daedra,” said Aranea knowingly. “Yes, Eola, I heard about Nelacar's death. Such a tragic end.” Aranea's voice sounded anything but displeased by this turn of events. “But back to the Star. You have done well in retrieving it, Eola and Cicero. Thank you for returning it to me – even broken, it is best to have it back with Azura, where it belongs.” She placed it on the altar and began invoking the Daedra. A pause, and then...

 

“She wishes to speak with you,” said Aranea, surprised.

 

“Me? A Daedric Lord wishes to speak with humble Cicero?” Cicero asked, wide-eyed. “Or... is it Eola she wishes to speak to?”

 

“She was not specific,” Aranea admitted. “She said for the one with the heart and spirit of a warrior, one brave enough to face a goddess. She said you would know which of you it meant.”

 

Eola and Cicero exchanged blank looks. “Eola has probably eaten the hearts of many great warriors,” Cicero ventured.

 

“Yeah, but you're the one with the dragon blood,” said Eola. “And you've taken care of the Night Mother for over a decade. Does that count as facing a goddess?”

 

“She does not talk to Cicero,” said Cicero sadly. “Cicero is merely a Keeper, yes, not worthy to hear her beautiful voice, no. If only Delphine were here...”

 

“She'd tell us both to get on with it and get back to work,” said Eola, pursing her lips. “Ah, to Sovngarde with it.” She stepped forward and placed both hands on the altar, praying that Namira would not mind her invoking another Daedra.

 

“Greetings, mortal,” a feminine voice echoed in her head, like that of Namira, but softer somehow. “So the child of Namira has come to the aid of Azura. I thought it might be you. The Dragonborn is strong, but he does not know it yet, and needed an Aedra's aid just to keep him stable. He will do great things, yes, but he is no leader. You, however... you won't save the world, but you will leave your mark regardless.”

 

“Thanks, I think,” Eola replied dryly. “What can I do for you, Lady Azura?”

 

“You and Cicero retrieved my Star, for which I am grateful... but it will be no use to you unless it is cleansed. Malyn Varen's body died, but his soul lives on in my Star. Oh, I could just leave it – the Star will return to my realm in Oblivion eventually, and it'll cleanse itself then – but I doubt you have the hundred or so years it would take. No, if you want this Star whole and available in your lifetime, I'll need you to enter it yourself and cleanse it by destroying Varen's soul. Are you ready, mortal?”

 

Eola smiled. She'd never been one to back down from a challenge. “Bring it on. I'll welcome the fight.”

 

“Then I shall send you in,” Azura purred, satisfied with the response. “Fear not, Eola. I will be watching over you.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Words were going to be had with a certain Daedra and a certain wimpy jester when this was done. Severe and unforgiving words. Eola resummoned a Flame Atronach, refreshed her armour and dived out of the way of yet another fireball. Damn Dremora! She'd thought she'd be up against one necromancer, not these! More magicka potions and a healing potion needed, she thought, consuming nearly half her stock. And now, duck, dodge, run forward while blasting lightning at the wretched creature. Fortunately, it didn't seem to know healing magic, which meant the next fireball from her Atronach killed it.

 

Which meant the corpse was soon getting up again, this time under her control, and charging down its fellows. Eola pursued at a rather more leisurely pace and watched as it butchered first one, then fought the other to a standstill. A few bolts of lightning from Eola killed the last Dremora as hers crumbled, leaving just Varen remaining.

 

“Going to kill you, Varen,” Eola cooed. “Going to kill ya and eat ya.”

 

“Fool mortal, you'll never defeat me!” Varen snarled, raising his hands to cast. Eola drew her sword.

 

“No, the fool's back at Azura's Shrine,” said Eola. “You're talking to the cannibal.” She pounced, wincing as the fire magic hit her, but persevering regardless. A few swipes of her sword and it was all over. She'd feast too, but somehow she was having trouble standing upright. As she sank to her knees, realising she'd taken more hits than she'd thought, the last thing she heard was Azura promising to send her home...

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Warm magic bathed her, and there was no pain, just light. In the distance, voices and slowly words became clear. Mainly because that high-pitched shrieking was recognisable anywhere.

 

“Eola! Eola! Kind and brave Sister Eola is not dead, cannot be dead! I told her she should not have come, should have stayed in Riverwood waiting for Listener Delphine to come back. How is Cicero meant to tell his Listener this, that their new Sister is dead already??”

 

“She's not dead,” said a deeper, female voice. “Look, her wounds are healing. If you would perhaps calm down and let me work? I have done this a few times before, I do know what I am doing.”

 

“Eola, Eola,” Cicero sniffled, clutching her hand, but he did subside. “Eola, please wake up. Cicero may not always show it, but he is very fond of you and will miss you if you die.”

 

Slowly, Eola opened her eyes, squinting in the bright sunlight. Perhaps fortunately, half of it seemed to be blocked by the silhouette of a jester's hat, Cicero bent low over her.

 

“Hey Champ,” Eola rasped, her voice harsh even to her own ears. “Didn't know you cared.”

 

“Eola!!!” Cicero cried, squeezing her into a hug and planting a kiss on her forehead. “Sister Eola is alive!”

 

“She lives,” Aranea confirmed, also smiling. “Champion of Azura, how are you feeling?”

 

“Like I was sent flying by a giant and then snapped up in midair by a dragon,” said Eola, wincing as she sat upright, clinging on to Cicero as she did so. “Am I still pretty? Felt like half my face was on fire...”

 

“You were badly hurt, but do not fear, I am skilled at Restoration magic,” said Aranea. “You're going to be fine and you look much as you did before.”

 

“Talented Aranea does not lie,” Cicero confirmed as Eola turned to him. “Sister Eola looks well. Sister Eola must not worry Cicero like that again, he has few enough Family left to him!”

 

“Take more than some necromancer and his Dremora pets to kill me,” said Eola, although underneath the bravado, she was all too aware of how close she'd come.

 

“Azura clearly chose well,” said Aranea. “As promised, Guardian of the Star.” She held out the Star of Azura to Eola. It had changed colour, now white, gleaming and whole again. Eola reached out for it, unable to take her eyes off it.

 

“Thank you,” Eola whispered, enthralled. “It's beautiful.” She looked up and realised Aranea didn't look happy. If anything, she looked depressed and miserable.

 

“Are you alright?” Eola asked. “I... look, I can leave the Star here if it means that much to you.” She ignored the strangled cry from Cicero.

 

“Oh Champion,” Aranea sighed. “It is not that. The Star is yours, I have no problem leaving it with you. But while you were in it, Azura spoke to me. She told me my time here was done. She would be sending no more visions. Apparently it is time for me to go out and see the world with my own eyes, not visions of it through Hers. I... don't know what to do now. For two hundred years I have tended this shrine in Her name. I don't know what purpose I have without it. I... Champion... Eola... if you have need of me, I'd be honoured to travel with you and your brother here.”

 

Eola shot a look at Cicero, alarmed. That was unexpected and not unwelcome had she been a freelancer still, but...

 

Cicero's mind was clearly running along the same lines.

 

“Does Aranea know that Eola and Cicero answer to our Listener Delphine?” he asked, frowning. “Paranoid Delphine might object if we turn up with a stranger.”

 

“Didn't you say she was recruiting?” Eola asked. “And I'm sure Aranea's got talents we can use. Only... well... Aranea, how would you feel about killing people? Innocent people? For, er, cash?”

 

Aranea's eyebrows shot up. “What sort of question is that- oh. I see. Of course. Dark Brotherhood. I knew Cicero's allegiance lay with Sithis, and I had wondered why a priestess of Namira was travelling with a Dark Brotherhood assassin, but clearly you're both members. And if I journey with you... I would need to join, would I not?”

 

Eola and Cicero both nodded.

 

“But loyal Aranea could still worship Azura,” said Cicero hopefully. “Cicero has known Dunmer in his old Cheydinhal Sanctuary who worshipped her.”

 

“I imagine he did,” said Aranea softly. “I have never been a member, but I have known the Brotherhood before. Back in Morrowind, before Red Mountain erupted, the Ieniths had a tradition of sending their eldest daughter to the Morag Tong. In Morrowind back then, if you had a grievance against someone, you could take them to court, and if the wrong was horrific enough, or compensation was not forthcoming for it, you could apply for a writ of assassination. Once granted, the Morag Tong would carry out the sentence. I was intended for them as an initiate... but early in my career, I was injured badly. Botched a job, nearly got killed. I got away and was found by a passing priest of Azura who healed me and told me of the glory of the Lady of Twilight. I had never been religious before, but he converted me. Then the visions came and I gladly left the Tong to become a priestess of Azura myself. Of course the Tong didn't take that well, and my family disowned me and applied for a writ. They were granted it.”

 

“Bastards,” said Eola fervently. Cicero nodded too, but looked curious.

 

“Cicero notes condemned Aranea is still alive, while the Morag Tong is not. Was Azura not pleased with them?”

 

Aranea laughed. “You could say that, yes. Azura sent me warnings, allowing me to keep one step ahead. It was no life of ease being on the run though. In the end I decided to arrange some protection of my own, and performed the Black Sacrament. True enough the Dark Brotherhood came to my aid, and before long, certain prominent Tong members lay dead. I did not have much to pay them with, other than my visions. However, their Speaker seemed pleased enough with that, and so I became their pet Seeress. I told them of the future, warned them away from contracts not worth the trouble, warned them of danger, told them where the Tong were strong and where weak. I healed them, I trained them in magic, I counselled them. In return they protected me. And at the last, when the final vision of fire and death came, they were among the ones I warned. Many came with me to Skyrim, others ventured into Cyrodiil. I daresay many of them were known to you, Cicero.”

 

Cicero was staring at her in amazement. “You! You, they spoke of you! Dunmer Brothers and Sisters, they spoke of how a priestess of Azura allied to the Brotherhood had warned them to flee, and so they had. Many worshipped Azura in gratitude for saving them. And it was you?”

 

“Probably,” said Aranea sadly. “But I also saw them find safety in Cyrodiil, only to die in turn in the Great War or other violence. I saw your fate, son of Sithis. It was a hard one. You appear happier now though, less troubled.”

 

“Cicero has a Listener again,” said Cicero cheerfully. “Cicero is content. And Cicero has a new Sister... maybe two new Sisters.” He regarded Aranea, new interest in his eyes. “Cicero was wrong earlier. Cicero was very wrong to think Aranea intended harm, or that the Star was a waste of time, Cicero sees that now. Maybe this was meant to be, and you are meant to return to Sithis.”

 

“Azura clearly doesn't care what I do,” said Aranea bitterly. “I will not question her wisdom in this, maybe she has a plan not apparent to me. All the same, it is hard to be forsaken, after having been faithful for so long.”

 

“Then come with us,” said Eola gently. “Delphine will be glad of a new member, and even if you're not so keen on the killing, we could use a healer who we don't have to lie to about how we got injured.”

 

“I didn't say I couldn't do it,” Aranea countered. “It's not like I have any surviving relatives or outside connections left. I can kill strangers, and I know what the Sacrament involves – for someone to go to that amount of trouble for a death, the target is usually someone the world is better off without.”

 

“She'll fit right in,” said Cicero, at the same time as Eola asked “Is that a yes?”

 

Aranea nodded. “It's a yes, Guardian. Let me gather my possessions, then take me to this Listener of yours. We have much to discuss.”


	6. Blood on the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea's on her first real contract, but Windhelm's already got a few murder problems of its own. Meanwhile, Eola and Cicero are off to infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy... if they can just get Cicero to part with the hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for, er, zombies and murder. If that warning isn't completely superfluous in a fic about the Dark Brotherhood.

“Where in Oblivion were you??” Delphine demanded. “I returned two days ago, and Orgnar tells me I just missed you both as you'd gone to Winterhold. Winterhold??? Why on Nirn did you go there?” She glanced away from Cicero and Eola, both looking sheepish, and noticed the Dunmer standing calmly behind them. “Who's this?”

 

“This is Aranea Ienith,” said Cicero softly. “A priestess of Azura, skilled mage... and willing to join us.”

 

“She gave me Azura's Star after I helped her fix it,” said Eola proudly, rolling her eyes as she noticed Cicero's pointed coughing. “What? Oh alright, Cicero helped, but I did most of the work so it's mine now.”

 

“Azura's Star...” Delphine stared at the soul gem, momentarily forgetting she was annoyed. “I didn't even know it was real. Huh.” She turned to Aranea. “So you're our newest recruit. I presume the others have filled you in on the nature of our business.”

 

“They have, Delphine,” said Aranea. “They also told me of Cicero's gifts and your research interests. Not a topic I have studied much, but I am as curious about dragons as anyone.”

 

“Not here,” said Delphine softly, glancing around the inn's main room. Embry was slumped drunkenly over a table, no doubt heedless of anything else, but Sven and Orgnar were busying themselves with various things in a way that suggested they were eavesdropping on every word. “Come, let's talk in my room, all of us. Things have moved on and we need to plan.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Aranea stared openly at the Night Mother's coffin as she entered the cellar room, and was even more surprised to see Cicero skip forward and hug it.

 

“Yeah, he does that,” said Eola fondly. Aranea could only nod.

 

“And that's really the Night Mother's body in there? And she really talks?”

 

“So they say,” said Eola, raising her voice a little to be heard over Cicero's exuberant exclamations of how he'd missed his Night Mother and was so very pleased to see her again. “Only to Delphine though.”

 

“Yes, and while you were off in Winterhold, she spoke to me again,” said Delphine. “Cicero, leave the Night Mother alone, you and she can have plenty of time to get reacquainted later. We have business to arrange.”

 

Cicero perked up at this. “Business? Brotherhood business? People to kill? Please say yes. Please say Cicero will be stabbing and killing.”

 

“I'm sure there'll be plenty of opportunity, but I don't have a contract for you. I do, however, have a highly important and secret mission for you and Eola, one requiring a bit of stealth and subterfuge. I'll need you both to go to Solitude and meet with a contact of mine there. You're going to a party... at the Thalmor Embassy.”

 

“Party? Cicero's going to a party?” Cicero gasped. “Cicero has not been to a party in _years_! Ooh yes, Cicero enjoys parties. Cicero shall dance and sing and joke and caper and make even an Elf laugh, oh yes. Right before he stabs them, and has their eyeballs on a plate.”

 

“Eyeballs?” Eola stared at him. “You're a sick man, Cicero. Even I think eyeballs are revolting.”

 

“Not to eat!” said Cicero, beaming. “To stab. Stab them with a dagger, and they go pop! Delightful.”

 

“Is he always like this?” Aranea murmured, looking a little pale. Eola nodded.

 

“I'm afraid so. None better to have on your side in a fight though. He's actually not quite that bloodthirsty in combat, you know. He's all ruthless efficiency when it comes to actually getting the job done. Why, having second thoughts about working with him?”

 

“No,” said Aranea. “Frankly, there's nowhere I'd rather be than a paid up member of the one organisation whose members he's sworn not to harm.”

 

“If I can have your attention again?” said Delphine tersely. “Yes, Cicero and Eola, you are going to a party this weekend, courtesy of the Thalmor. Normally, that place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse, but the Ambassador, Elenwen, is throwing one of her regular soirées for the rich and connected of Skyrim. I've got a contact there who managed to get your names on the guest list, and he'll also help you smuggle your weapons and armour in. A Wood Elf, called Malborn. Thalmor massacred his entire family. We can trust him.”

 

“And does Malborn in return for his help wish us to kill Thalmor?” Cicero asked hopefully.

 

“Not exactly, but he's unlikely to mourn the loss of any of them,” said Delphine. “You're to meet him in the Winking Skeever day after tomorrow and hand over all the equipment you'll want inside. You won't be able to take anything in with you so be careful in what you choose. I've got you some party clothes to take with you and change into – they're in the chest over there. And Cicero, I am very much afraid that you will not be able to wear your hat to the party.”

 

“My... hat? Leave my hat?” Cicero looked heartbroken at the thought. “But Cicero is not Cicero without the hat! Oh, sweet Delphine cannot know what she is asking of her poor, dear Cicero!”

 

“You can't wear it to a party at the Thalmor Embassy!” Delphine sighed. “You have to look like you're rich and sophisticated! That hat makes you look neither. Don't tell me you never had contracts which required a disguise.”

 

Cicero relented. “Cicero supposes he can make do for an evening or so. But Cicero does not like it.”

 

“You'll do great,” said Delphine, her voice softening. “Now, the party. You'll hand your essential working gear to Malborn, and he'll smuggle it in for you. Then you'll meet me at Solitude stables the night of the party – I'll take the rest of your things and bring them back here, while you will get on board the carriage I've arranged for you to the Embassy itself. At the party, you'll need to meet Malborn again, and create some sort of distraction, then get away into the Embassy proper. Once there, locate Elenwen's office. If there's top secret documents anywhere, that's where they'll be. Here, I got Malborn to sketch me out a plan of the Embassy. Here's the main reception room, and here's Elenwen's solar at the back. Follow the route I've outlined here, it'll take you there. I don't want any violence at the party itself, but once Malborn's sneaked you out and re-equipped you, you can kill any Thalmor that gets in your way. In fact, I'd take it as a personal favour if you could kill as many as you can lay your hands on without getting captured or killed before you can grab the info we need and escape. I won't lie, it will be dangerous. But I do have faith in you both. What do you say?”

 

Cicero practically squealed. “Thank you, thank you, kind Delphine! We will kill lots of Thalmor for you, don't worry.”

 

Eola picked up the map and took Cicero by the arm, hauling him upstairs. “Come on, Champ. We've got ourselves a mission to plan and some Elves to slaughter.”

 

Delphine smiled fondly as she watched them go.

 

“Never tell them this, but they're absolutely adorable. Depraved and bloodthirsty killers both, of course, but still, their enthusiasm for their work is so touching.” She turned to Aranea, who had remained silent throughout. “And now they've brought me you. So tell me. What brings one of Azura's own here? I never thought her priesthood would have much to do with the Dark Brotherhood. What happened in Winterhold? How in the world did you get hold of Azura's Star?”

 

So Aranea found herself telling this stranger her entire life story, starting with her alliance with the Brotherhood in Morrowind, through to seeing Eola and Cicero in a vision and finally meeting them, and tasking them with finding Azura's Star, and ending with Eola cleansing the Star and Azura releasing her from her service.

 

“With nowhere else to go, I accepted Eola's invitation to join you,” said Aranea. “You may be a professional band of killers, but you're also backing the Dragonborn. I confess I'm interested in seeing where that goes.”

 

“Aren't we all,” said Delphine dryly. “You may live to regret that, but I admit we need the people. Are you sure you can kill on command though? Doesn't Azura have precepts against that sort of thing?”

 

“Azura teaches us to walk in the Twilight, Listener,” said Aranea calmly. “However, she does not mind if we walk in the Twilight of Dawn, with day on the way, or in the Twilight of Dusk, when night falls.”

 

Delphine's features relaxed in relief. “Thank the gods, I truly do need more people, and the Dark Brotherhood isn't exactly an organisation I can advertise in inns for. I'm going to be following Cicero and Eola to Solitude – I need to scout the place while I'm there for a job we have planned soon. In the mean time, the Night Mother's given me another contract, a smaller one, I hope. Aranea, I'm going to need you to go to Markarth...”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Aranea scowled, staring at her mead glass as she sat in the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Just her luck, to end up with a contract to kill a young woman... in a city with a serial killer on the loose and all the young women in the city being extra careful. Killing Alain Du Font hadn't been a problem – the bandits had been spectacularly badly organised and ill-disciplined and no match for a mage and her Atronach, and as luck would have it, she'd come across their leader while he was standing in a large patch of oil leaking from a Dwemer machine. One fireball later, and the job was done. So why was she now here in Windhelm, a city where her very face served the purpose of both blending in and attracting unwelcome attention? Because Muiri, her contact, had also requested the death of Nilsine Shatter-Shield, and Aranea had always been susceptible to a pretty face, not to mention keen to impress Delphine. Trust her luck to have walked straight into a murder mystery.

 

“So no one has any idea who's behind these murders?” Aranea asked. Suvaris Atheron, who Aranea had befriended after seeing her being on the receiving end of verbal abuse from one of the local Nords, shook her head.

 

“No one. Most of the victims have been Nords, so there's talk it might be one of us... but I don't think so. We don't always see eye to eye with the Nords, it's true, but none of us would want any of them dead like this. And the latest victim, Susannah, was always kind to us. Worked at the Candlehearth Inn as a waitress. Nice girl, always friendly to us, unlike some. No one here wanted to see her dead.”

 

“And no one's looking into it?” Aranea asked, wondering how any Jarl could tolerate such violence in his city. “What are the guards doing?”

 

“They're doing what they can,” Suvaris sighed. “But they're undermanned and overstretched because of the war – able-bodied young men and women who might have joined the guards are all in the army instead. So here we all are, living in fear that one of us might be next, or that some Nords might decide to take matters into their own hands and exact revenge.”

 

“Someone has to do something,” said Aranea. “We can't just all sit by while some maniac stalks the streets, surely?” No, that was the Dark Brotherhood's job, and this killer was proving distinctly bad for business.

 

“Well, Viola Giordano's been looking into it, but I don't think she's got very far,” said Suvaris thoughtfully, looking Aranea over. “But you, you're a stranger here. You could look with new eyes, see what others have missed. Why not talk to Jorleif in the morning? He's Jarl Ulfric's steward, runs most of the city while Ulfric's busy waging war on his kinsmen. Talk to him, he might let you investigate. We'd all count it a service if you could find this lunatic.”

 

Aranea nodded, sipping her mead, agreeing to speak to Jorleif. Quite apart from anything else, someone who'd managed to kill three women in cold blood and leave their bodies on the street without getting caught was someone she wanted to speak to...

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Calixto Corrium woke up in the middle of the night. Something was wrong. Someone was here... and someone had lashed his wrists and ankles to the bedposts. A rush of magic and a magelight appeared, revealing a tall Dunmer woman in blue robes sitting across from him. A Dunmer he'd spoken to only a few hours earlier.

 

“You!” he hissed. “What do you want? What's the meaning of this?”

 

“I think you know quite well what this is, Calixto,” said Aranea calmly. “As you know, I've been investigating the recent spate of murders in this city. Found the murderer's base of operations and his secret altar room. I also found the Necromancer's Amulet. Not an art I practice myself, but I've studied enough to know how to recognise it. You're trying flesh magic.”

 

“I am not- how dare you insinuate that I'm a murderer!” Calixto snapped. “Let me go this instant! And that amulet is the court mage's, I told you before! Necromancy? I know nothing about necro-oof!” Aranea had tossed a book onto his chest, a book he recognised with a sinking feeling.

 

“I found your journals. All of them, two at the murder scene, another here. All in the same handwriting, and I imagine were we to put that to the test, it would be found to be yours. And if the amulet is a ceremonial one that is presented to the court mage as a badge of office, why did Jorleif not recognise it, hmm?” Aranea did not give him a chance to respond, getting up and coming to kneel next to him, her red eyes staring into his, cruel smile on her face. “Also the ancient Nord embalming tools that Helgird said were used to butcher the bodies? Examples of them are all over your house. You're the Butcher of Windhelm, Calixto. Admit it.”

 

“And what are you going to do about it?” Calixto hissed, straining at his bonds. “Kill me? Turn me in?”

 

“Clearly not, or the guards would already be here,” Aranea smiled, not reassuring him in the slightest. “I'm actually impressed, you know. So many kills, in the middle of a city, without getting caught or even suspected? Takes some doing. My organisation could use a man of your talents. So I have a proposition for you.”

 

“What could you possibly offer me, Dunmer?” Calixto asked. “Can you bring Lucilla back to life, hmm? I will not give up my research, and you clearly will not leave me alone. I take it you're not interested in gold?”

 

Aranea shook her head. “Not gold, no. But as I said, I could use your assistance in a certain matter I'm looking into. You need one more victim, correct?”

 

Calixto blinked, then began to relax. Could this possibly be turned to his advantage after all?

 

“That's right, I need one more – a Nord ideally, but I'm willing to consider an Elf. Why?”

 

“I can help you,” said Aranea, “if you help me. I have a client with an interest in seeing a certain citizen of Windhelm dead, and I think that citizen would do admirably for your research. You already took her sister after all.”

 

“Nilsine Shatter-Shield?” Calixto gasped. “Yes, yes she'd be ideal, but since her sister died, she's been so cautious, barely leaving her house after dark. How do you propose to get her?”

 

Aranea smiled and brandished a key. “Same way I got into yours. I pickpocketed the key while speaking to her mother. I also have herbal sedatives. But I can't exactly carry a semi-conscious woman away alone. I could just stab her while she sleeps of course, but why not kill two birds at once? So to speak.”

 

“And then what?” Calixto asked, barely able to believe his luck. He'd always assumed he'd have to work alone, assistance was something he'd not banked on. But he'd be a fool if he could just trust this strange woman. “Why do you want Nilsine dead anyway?”

 

“Not me, my client,” Aranea corrected. “I could tell you the back story but it's a little tiresome and you don't need to know. Suffice it to say there is gold in it, and also, if you want, a possible future career for you.”

 

“Career?” Calixto asked, confused. “What sort of career is there in murder- oh.” The septim dropped as Calixto realised just what organisation Aranea must represent. “You're... inviting me to join the Dark Brotherhood?”

 

Aranea nodded, smiling. “Now you're getting it,” she said. “So here is our bargain. You help me abduct Nilsine Shatter-Shield and get her to Hjerim. You then use her for your research and do whatever you wish with the body. After that, you make arrangements to gather your possessions and leave this city, maybe even with your resurrected sister if all goes to plan. Meanwhile, I'll frame Wuunferth the Unliving for the murders for you. After that, you either live quietly and discreetly in another city and we never see each other again... or you can come with me and meet our leader and we can discuss inducting you into our Family if your taste for killing is not yet dead. What do you say?”

 

“I want a cut of whatever the Brotherhood are paying you for this,” said Calixto. Aranea nodded.

 

“A quarter of whatever I get. The client asked for two kills, I have done one. As your kills have made Nilsine wary, it's only fitting you help me out.”

 

“Madam Dunmer, you have yourself a deal,” said Calixto. Aranea drew her dagger and cut his bonds. As she did so, Calixto flexed his fingers, wincing as blood flowed back into his limbs. This had all the hallmarks of a very profitable friendship.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Abducting Nilsine had been simplicity itself – one drug-laced handkerchief over the face and she'd been out like a light. Easy enough to wrap her in a cloak and carry her out of the house – with one arm over each shoulder, they'd just looked like two people carrying a drunken friend home. Now they were in Hjerim, with Aranea watching as Calixto set to work. The chanting had been going on for hours now, and Aranea had nodded off a couple of times. However, she soon woke up when Calixto cried out, delighted.

 

“Lucilla, Lucilla!” he cried, as the result of his labours sat up and howled. Aranea fought back a wave of nausea as the rotting thing that was a composite of several dead women began to stagger forward. She raised her hands, fire at the ready.

 

“Sister, it's me. Don't you recognise me?” Calixto asked, oblivious to the fact that the thing's fingers were falling off. Of course, that didn't stop it stepping forward and fastening said fingers around Calixto's throat.

 

“Moonnnssterrrr,” it rasped as it squeezed. “Monnnnsssterrrrr!!!” From the look in its eyes, Aranea wasn't sure whether it was talking about Calixto or itself. Calixto was fighting for breath, waving his arms as he spluttered. Aranea wondered if perhaps she should flee and let Calixto reap the fruits of his labours. Then it glanced up and met her eyes. She saw her own reflection there, and in bloodstained eyes, she saw also an unspoken message: _Help me_.

 

Aranea could take it no more. Lightning and fire flashed from her fingers, striking the corpse. It howled in pain, and then the life went out of it and it mercifully collapsed in a heap of stinking entrails and bones. Calixto, released, staggered back, clutching his throat as he sank into a corner. Aranea cast Healing Hands on him until he finally let his throat go and just hung his head, tears rolling down his cheeks.

 

“Calixto?” she asked, surveying the scene of body parts and crimson, feeling really rather relieved that Eola hadn't been the one to get this assignment. “That didn't work, did it?”

 

“No,” Calixto wept. “No, it failed. Whatever came back, it wasn't her. I hope it wasn't, anyway. Lucilla, Lucilla, my sister!”

 

“Are you going to try again?” Aranea asked, wondering how that might go. She'd not really expected this to work, but it was a bit worrying to think of Calixto on a bloody killing spree. He'd eventually get caught, and if under interrogation, he let slip about the help he'd had from a certain Dunmer of the Dark Brotherhood... She fingered her dagger. If he didn't agree to sign on with her, she wasn't sure he could actually be allowed to live.

 

To her relief, Calixto shook his head. “No. No, this is the last. I've tried everything, every permutation, every technique. No point trying any more. Lucilla's not coming back. She – she's gone.” He stared up at Aranea, tears in his eyes. She'd never seen a human or elf looks so distraught. “I'm too much of a coward to kill myself. Aranea, my house and everything in it is the Brotherhood's if you end my life right now. I am willing to perform the Sacrament right here if you wish.”

 

Tempting. Very tempting. But Aranea had seen enough death for one night... and she had a sense Calixto had talents they could use yet.

 

“No,” said Aranea. “I'll take the house for the Brotherhood... but the most valuable thing you have to offer us is your mind. I repeat, join us. I can't give you your sister back, but I can give you new brothers and sisters. I can give you a Mother. I can give you a purpose. In return, you give us your blade and your magic and kill in the name of Sithis. You attended Winterhold, right?”

 

Calixto nodded. “Yes, a long time ago. Had to leave though – they didn't see eye to eye with the necromantic research Lucilla and I were doing. So we left and went travelling, learnt all sorts of things. She was always the driving force, you know. A brilliant mind, ever curious. I just followed in her footsteps. When she died...” He stopped, almost unable to talk. Aranea waited, and after a while, he was able to continue.

 

“When she died, life just seemed so pointless. And so much of her work, left unfinished. That's why I was trying to bring her back, so she could continue her work and so we could go adventuring again. I miss that life.” Calixto sighed wistfully. “But she's gone, and I can't go adventuring on my own, not at my age, certainly when I don't know what I'm looking for.”

 

“Some would say the greatest adventures come precisely when you don't know what it is you're searching for,” said Aranea gently. “But if your dearest wish is following happily in the footsteps of a strong-minded woman with a plan, you're going to love our Listener. What do you say?”

 

Calixto dried his eyes and looked up, seemingly resigned. “Well, if you will not kill me, I suppose I had better take you up on your offer. The gods know I could do with a fresh start, away from this damn city, and it's better than staring at the walls of my house going mad, or drinking myself to death. Come on then, let's get out of here. You can frame Wuunferth for the killings, and then we'll leave.”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” said Aranea, feeling rather pleased with herself. A contract successfully completed and a new assassin recruited. Delphine would be pleased.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Veezara stared at the young Reachwoman, confused. He'd done his fair share of setting up contracts and meeting clients before, but he could honestly say this was not the usual reaction he got.

 

“So... you are saying you've already been visited by my brethren?” he said. “And that they've already killed the target for you?”

 

“That's right, you Argonians deaf or something?” Muiri snapped. “And I already paid them both for it too. So you can forget about trying to extort gold out of me.”

 

“No, no, such was not my intention,” Veezara hastily reassured her. “No, you see, the contract in question was given to a more recent recruit, and we are merely trying to ensure that the service provided lived up to our usual standards. Did all go well? Were they polite and courteous? Have you had external proof that all the conditions were met? Also, as we do not deal in names in this business, would you be able to describe them to me? We wish to make sure none of our members are... sub-contracting.”

 

“Oh! Well in that case, no problems at all, they were perfectly lovely,” said Muiri, relaxing. “Especially the Dunmer mage, she was so kind, so sweet. You can tell her when you see her I'll be happy to see her if she's ever in Markarth again. Maybe buy her a drink.”

 

“I'll let her know,” Veezara promised. After he'd run the woman through, that is. “And the other one?”

 

“He was a bit creepy, but I suppose in your line of work, that's a bonus,” said Muiri. “Middle-aged, Imperial, dark hair and eyes, dressed kind of normally, I guess. Wouldn't have thought he was anything but a merchant if I hadn't known he was with you. Was he the recent recruit then? He did seem a little nervous.”

 

“I'll be sure to let him know to work on it,” said Veezara. “Thank you for your time, I'm gratified to hear you were pleased with our work. I'll be sure to pass your comments on.” He smiled graciously, bowed and stepped out of the Hag's Cure. Inwardly, he was seething. Someone had stolen a contract and cheated the Brotherhood. Someone was going to pay.


	7. Diplomatic Immunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's party time at the Thalmor Embassy, and what high society party is complete without a little drama? Certainly not this one, not when the Dark Brotherhood's finest are in attendance. Hijinks ensue.

Cicero was still sulking. He'd been sulking all afternoon, ever since meeting Malborn and having to hand over his gear, including the leather armour Delphine had bought him, his swords, archery equipment... and the hat. He was now wearing the remainder of his jester outfit, sitting cross-legged on the bed in the Winking Skeever's nicest room, scowling and refusing to put on his party clothes, despite Eola's encouragement.

 

“For the love of Sithis,” Eola sighed. “Delphine has told you, I have told you, you can't go to a party at the Thalmor Embassy in your jester outfit. You have to look wealthy! Rich men don't dress like that!”

 

“Cicero does not care,” snapped Cicero. “Cicero is the Fool of Hearts, or would dearly _like_ to be, if _someone_ had not taken his favourite hat and given it to that rude Wood Elf!”

 

“Yes, and if you get dressed in your party gear, come with me to the party and make nice to the Thalmor for a bit, you'll then get your hat back, along with all your sharp and shiny things, and then you can go slaughtering them all. But you need to go to the party _first_. Come on, this is Delphine's plan and her orders, you're not going to rebel over a hat of all things??” Eola had her hands on her hips, frowning at him.

 

“Cicero has had that hat for years,” Cicero muttered, his expression still mutinous, but a little less so.

 

“Yes, and you can wear it again once we've done the job,” said Eola. “Come on, you know Delphine wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Don't you want to kill some Thalmor for nice Delphine?”

 

“Cicero would do better at killing Thalmor with his hat,” said Cicero, glaring. “Eola, must we go to the party? Can we not simply scale the walls, kill the guards, cut a path of blood to harridan Elenwen's office, take what we need and burn the place?”

 

“No,” said Eola pointedly. “Because not only are our armour and best weapons now inside said Embassy, Delphine has gone to a great deal of trouble to set this whole operation up, and if we deviate from the plan, this whole thing will most likely go horribly badly for us all. Delphine will also be very angry with us, and while you may fantasise on a nightly basis about Delphine tying you up and punishing you, I assure you I don't!”

 

“Cicero does not- that is to say, er... Cicero would not dream of having such improper thoughts about his sweet Listener!” Cicero said, not terribly convincingly. Eola rolled her eyes.

 

“Seriously, you are not fooling anyone, Cicero. I might be blind in one eye, but the other one's still good and honestly, you have got the biggest crush a man's ever had on a woman since Sanguine and Dibella. And sweet Mara, she's clearly got a soft spot for you. She _smiles_ at you! She doesn't do that to anyone else, let me tell you. And she touches you too, lets you touch her. I'm not sure she'd let anyone else within three feet of her without pulling a blade on them, but you? You can pounce on her and cuddle her, and not only does she not bat an eyelid, she cuddles you back!” Eola stared at Cicero, genuinely confused by this point. “Cicero, what the hell's the deal with you two? Are you lovers or not? Because if you're not, you really really ought to be. Do I need to give you both spiked mead and lock you in the cellar together?”

 

“Eola!” Cicero gasped, shocked at her bluntness... and blushing furiously. “Do not... Do not joke about such things! Delphine is not a wanton harlot, who can be seduced merely by proffering her mead until she falls into my bed. She is... she is special. She's Cicero's beautiful Listener. And Cicero does not wish to be presumptuous.” The sulkiness of before had faded, replaced with a wistful melancholy. Eola sat next to him, taking a hand in his.

 

“You're hoping she'll make the first move and initiate something,” said Eola, beginning to get it. “Because you're not any good at it yourself? Or... no, you prefer it that way, don't you? You want her to sweep you off your feet and ravish you, don't you?”

 

Cicero had gone bright pink and was staring at his feet. “Cicero would not put it quite so crudely,” he managed to get out. Eola just grinned, patting him on the back.

 

“Cicero, my friend, I think I may have an idea.” She indicated the party clothes, still lying draped over the room's storage chest. “See that outfit. That stylish outfit meant to make you look like a wealthy nobleman. That outfit Delphine bought you for the party. That outfit Delphine has clearly spent a considerable sum on obtaining.”

 

“What of it?” Cicero asked, suspicion in his eyes. “If Eola thinks to manipulate Cicero into wearing it...”

 

Eola cocked her head to one side, still grinning. “I don't think it's me with the ulterior motive here. We're meeting her later, right? Wearing those clothes?” She leaned in and whispered in Cicero's ear. “Cicero, you fool, she wants to see you dressed up fancy. She wants to see what you look like scrubbed up, suited and booted. She wants to see you dressed up to the nines, a veritable feast of sartorial elegance for her eyes, and then I imagine she wants to take you home, rip the outfit off and see just what's hidden underneath.”

 

Cicero hissed, practically leaping off the bed, his face flushed. “Eola, you hussy, say no more of this!” He hesitated, something almost like hope in his eyes. “Eola really thinks that Delphine might have hidden reasons for wanting Cicero to dress in fine clothing?”

 

“Oh gods and Daedra, I'm sure of it,” Eola grinned. “And even if that wasn't actually her plan... if we can get you looking all pretty, it might just give her the impetus she needs to jump you.”

 

Cicero blinked, clearly thinking this over, before breaking out into a grin.

 

“Let Eola call for hospitable Vinius then and ask him to prepare a bath. The Fool of Hearts has a party to get ready for.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Delphine waited at the stables, ignoring the odd looks she was getting from passers-by, stablehands and guards, and reassuring the coach driver that his passengers would be here soon, surely he could wait a little longer? She hoped they'd be here soon anyway, she was paying by the hour for this. Maybe this had been a terrible idea. Maybe she should have just sent Eola on her own. It was the hat. It had to be the hat. Cicero was refusing to leave without it, he must be. She could only hope there hadn't actually been blood – she was getting fond of the twisted young cannibal despite herself. However, she'd also seen the way the two interacted. If anyone other than her stood a hope in Oblivion of getting Cicero out of his jester outfit, it was Eola. The girl constantly teased and taunted Cicero, and had yet to be stabbed or even severely threatened, so clearly he must think highly of her. Although hopefully not too highly...

 

Her thoughts were interrupted by approaching footsteps. Delphine looked up, blinked, and looked again, startled. Eola was looking stunning in her richly coloured gown, hair freshly washed and brushed, and on her arm... On her arm was Cicero, in the orange-brown outfit she'd picked out for him, expertly fitted and clinging to his body, and no sign of the hat anywhere. He had his head held back and was even strutting a little. Not only had his hair been washed and brushed out, someone, presumably Eola, had even braided it. Eola grinned at her and nudged Cicero forward. Taking his cue, he stepped towards her and swept a bow.

 

“Good evening, sweet Delphine. Cicero of Cheydinhal is at your service.” Taking her hand, he kissed the back of it very formally and stepped back, hands folded in front of him. His voice had dropped a whole octave, shorn of the usual affectations, and sounding almost sane, although there was still a wild look to his eyes. Delphine was almost lost for words.

 

“See, Champ, said you could do it,” Eola drawled. “Now all you have to do is keep that up for more than ten minutes at a time, and you'll be all set. Don't you think he scrubs up fancy, Delphine?”

 

“He certainly does,” said Delphine, suddenly feeling the urge to trade her armour in for a fine dress with a tight bodice and a plunging neckline, and a pair of highly impractical high-heeled shoes, just so she didn't look quite so drab by comparison. “But where is it?”

 

“Where is what?” Cicero asked innocently, twirling his coat-tails as he struck a few poses.

 

“The hat,” said Delphine. “The hat you can't live without. The hat you say you feel naked without. Eola, where's he hiding it?”

 

Eola's grin widened. “Gave it to Malborn. Sure, Cicero wailed at first, and it took three calm spells to get him to shut up, but he got over it once I'd impressed on him that if he didn't do as he was told, you'd be angry with him, but that if he did settle down, you'd be very very pleased with what a good boy he was.”

 

Cicero's cheeks dimpled as he smiled at her, fluttering his eyelashes. On any other man, it would have looked positively ridiculous, but on Cicero it actually looked quite cute.

 

“Cicero is always willing to please Delphine,” he cooed. “Does Delphine like Cicero's outfit?” He spun round to give her a view of the back, glancing over his shoulder, eyes – there was really no other word for it – smouldering. Delphine felt a little shiver go down her spine, especially as her eyes roamed over his body and noticed where the coat hung down over his arse. Nice. Very nice. She made a mental note to devise a scenario involving something tight-fitting for Cicero to slip into. Or possibly some 'counter-interrogation training', with Cicero half-naked and chained up – now that could be interesting...

 

She was brought back to reality by Eola calling her name.

 

“Hey, so should we be boarding this coach now, or are you two just going to flirt all evening?” Eola called, not bothering to lower her voice and garnering more than a few stares.

 

“Quite,” said Delphine tersely, tearing her eyes away. “Both of you, give me the rest of your gear, that's right, all of it. I'll take this back home for you, and you two get on your way. Have a good evening, won't you?” She gathered their things from them and frisked them both to ensure no one was trying to sneak any daggers in or anything, an experience which Cicero seemed to enjoy no end, squirming and squealing that it tickled but not actually doing anything to stop her. Delphine resisted the temptation to actually grope him, but she had to be honest – it was getting difficult to keep her hands off him. He was just too damn open and adorable, that was his trouble. Sure, he was a bloodthirsty lunatic, but damn the man, he was also a very kind, entertaining and courteous lunatic.

 

“Namira's sake,” she heard Eola mutter. “Come _on_ , Cicero, we'll be late.” Eola grabbed him by the arm and bundled him aboard the coach, before climbing on herself. “See you, Delphine! Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him for you.”

 

“See that you do, he'll be hard to replace,” Delphine called back with a smile and a wave. Inwardly, she felt her heart skip a beat and mentally cursed. Damn. Using Cicero's feelings to manipulate him was one thing, even admiring him physically was OK... but she had a horrible feeling hers were starting to get involved. This could not end well.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

The ride to the Embassy had been uneventful enough, with Cicero still on a high from having had Delphine admire him and consequently cheerful and bouncy and no trouble at all. However, when the two of them stepped up to the Embassy building itself, invitations in hand, even his euphoria faded.

 

“Cicero is not used to this sort of high-society party,” Cicero whispered to Eola.

 

“Nor am I,” she whispered back. “It'll be OK though. It's just a job, right?”

 

“Just a job,” Cicero echoed faintly, linking his arm in hers and skulking behind her as they were waved past by the Thalmor wizard on the door.

 

The Embassy's main reception room opened before them, majestic, imposing, done in that typical Blue Palace style that most of the large dwellings of Haafingar were built in. Cicero stared at the room, eyes widening, clearly a little intimidated. This state of affairs did not change when an equally imposing Altmer woman in Thalmor robes strode over to greet them.

 

“Welcome to my little soiree,” the Elf purred. “I am Elenwen, Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of making your acquaintance?”

 

Eola's mind promptly went blank, and she started gabbling the first thing that came into her head.

 

“You're Elenwen?? Oh wow, I have just heard _so_ much about you. Cicero, look, it's Elenwen the Ambassador! We are just so pleased to finally meet you, Madame Ambassador. Isn't that right, darling?” She patted Cicero's arm, her expression all sweetness and innocence. Cicero took his cue and promptly swept a deep bow.

 

“Madame Elenwen's fame has reached even humble Cicero's ears,” said Cicero. “Even I could not hope to rival fierce Elenwen's abilities at pain and bloodletting. Truly poor Cicero is in the presence of a master.”

 

Elenwen's face had frozen in a mask of fury and stunned surprise. Eola laughed nervously and patted Cicero's arm rather harder this time.

 

“I'm so sorry, Ambassador, you'll have to excuse my husband, he's not been well. Business hasn't been as good as we'd have liked lately, the strain's been getting to him, and also there was that whole sorry state of affairs with his dear Mother. They were very close. It's turned his mind a little, you see, and he's not always aware of what he says. The healers have done all they can, and recommended a little rest holiday in Skyrim. Mountain air, sea breezes, they'll all help.”

 

“Indeed,” said Elenwen frostily. “Be welcome then, but keep an eye on him – if he upsets any of the guests, you'll both be asked to leave.” With that, she turned and was gone. Eola turned to Cicero.

 

“Bloodletting??” she hissed. “Who talks about bloodletting at a high society party??”

 

“Husband? Rest holiday?? Turned his mind?” Cicero hissed back. “Cicero would rather marry a Hagraven than you!”

 

“Oh shut up, we needed a cover story,” Eola muttered. “Oh, and for the record, I've seen Dremora prettier than you, so there.”

 

“Would Sir and Madam care for a drink?” Malborn's voice cut into their argument, and both of them turned to face him, assuming identical artificial smiles. Malborn looked less than impressed, planting glasses of Jazbay wine in front of them and leaning closer.

 

“When you two are done with your argument, perhaps we could get on with things?” the Bosmer murmured. “I have your gear out back, create a distraction and escape with me through that door before the guards see you.”

 

Eola glanced at Cicero, who had already lost interest and was wandering off in the direction of a haughty black-haired Nord woman in a similar outfit to his.

 

“Distraction, eh? I really don't think that'll be a problem.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Not many people would have the nerve to go up to Maven Black-Briar at a party unintroduced and with anything less than the greatest of obsequiousness, but Cicero was one of the few. Of course, it helped that he had no idea who she was.

 

“You!” he cried, pointing at her. “You! Are wearing! The same outfit as meeee!!!!” he shrieked. Maven turned, stared glacially at him and immediately began to wonder exactly what favours she'd need to pull in to get rid of this particular irritant.

 

“I presume you're bothering me for a reason?” she asked tersely. “And I think you'll find that this outfit is one I popularised myself – no one was wearing it before me, no one.”

 

“Oh, humble Cicero did not mean to cause offence,” said Cicero cheerfully. “Cicero merely wished to offer his most sincere compliments on the lady's evident taste. Clearly we are of one mind on matters such as this. ONE MIND!” He nearly screamed the latter, and Maven stepped back, wondering why on Nirn she was attracting the nutters tonight. Not to mention that she clearly needed a new tailor.

 

“Oh dear,” Eola said softly. “I should really do something about this.” She should... but this was becoming far too entertaining to miss. Others were clearly having the same thoughts.

 

“Is he with you?” a blond Nord man in a truly ostentatious blue outfit asked her.

 

“Yeah,” Eola admitted. “We're here in Skyrim for a rest holiday – he's been under a lot of stress lately.”

 

“Looks it, the crazy fool,” the man nodded. “Fun to watch though. Hah, look at Black-Briar's face! She looks like she just chewed on a Deathbell leaf. An improvement, if you ask me. Normally she looks like a horker on a Skooma come down.”

 

“Bit too cheerful an image for her, isn't it?” said Eola, who had three older sisters and had become trained in the arts of cattiness and bitchiness before she could even walk. “She looks more like a troll with a giant's club up its arse.”

 

Her new friend laughed. “I like the way you think, girl. Erikur, by the way. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. Say, if you're new in town, maybe you'd like someone to show you around, eh? Introduce you to a few people, show you the sights...” He leaned in closer. “Maybe show you a few things that fool of a husband of yours would never think to try, that's if Maven lets him live long enough.”

 

Eola laughed nervously and backed away. “That's a very kind offer, Erikur, but I should really go and retrieve my darling man now. It's not a good idea to leave him unsupervised for long. If you'll excuse me...”

 

“Of course,” said Erikur, eyes roaming all over her still. “I'll be right over here if you get tired of babysitting and decide you prefer some more... adult conversation.”

 

Eola had already made up her mind that the only conversation she wanted to have with Erikur was introducing her knife to his gullet, but he had given her an idea. Smiling, she made her way over to where Cicero was capering around an increasingly stony-faced Maven Black-Briar, singing about the joys of Black-Briar mead. Somehow, she doubted Maven would be hiring him as a publicity agent any time soon.

 

“There you are, sweetie!” she cooed. “Come on, my love, let's leave the nice lady alone.” She turned to Maven. “I am so sorry about him, I think he forgot his medicine before he left the house. Oh hey, sweetie, before I forget, I was talking to that guy Erikur at the bar, and he told me we must on no account talk to a Maven Black-Briar – apparently she's the most boring person here. But don't worry, he said she's easy to recognise – she's got no tits, an arse like a horker and looks like a troll with a giant's club up its backside.”

 

Maven's face had turned from stony to positively granite. “Erikur said that, did he.”

 

“Yeah why, is she a friend of yours?” Eola asked, all innocence.

 

“You might say that,” said Maven coldly. “If you'll excuse me.” She stormed off in the direction of the bar. Eola grabbed Cicero by the hand.

 

“Now,” she whispered. “Let's get out of here.” Cicero nodded and followed her as they snuck off to where Malborn was waiting. Behind them, Maven had slapped Erikur so hard she nearly knocked him over.

 

“What was that for?” he demanded, rubbing his face.

 

“You know perfectly well what for!” Maven snapped, all righteous anger. “And as for our little business arrangement, you can consider that null and void too!”

 

“What?? You double-crossing bitch, you've already taken my money!” Erikur roared. “Is this some excuse to cheat me?” He advanced on her, fists raised, and Maven for her part had raised her own hands, apparently more than willing to fight back if necessary.

 

“Oh, you can have your money back!” Maven shouted, her face flushed. “I don't need your money to bring you down if I want!”

 

“Is that a threat? Because I'm not scared of you, Black-Briar, or your wretched Thieves Guild rabble either!” Erikur shouted.

 

“You damn well should be!” Maven shouted back, producing a dagger that she'd managed to conceal somehow and leaping at him. The last thing Eola and Cicero saw before Malborn ushered them out of the room was five Thalmor guards dragging the two apart and a seething Elenwen standing over them both with a Calm spell ready. All in all, the first part of the evening had gone remarkably well.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

On the other side of the Thalmor Embassy, two other individuals were going about breaking in in a more traditional manner. Unsurprisingly, as they were both thieves of the highest calibre, and one of them back in his younger days had been involved with the Dark Brotherhood. Said thief still had all his skills, as was ably demonstrated by his reaching through the outer fence, grabbing a guard's face and slitting her throat before she could utter a word. As the Altmer's body slumped to the ground, bound sword blinking out of existence, Delvin Mallory turned to his younger companion.

 

“Alright, let's go now, before anyone notices. I'll give you a boost.”

 

Vex nodded, and placed a foot in his waiting hands and slipped over the fence, securing a rope to one of the spikes at the top as she did so. This particular spot was shaded by trees, backed on to wilderness, and not as well patrolled as it should have been. Terribly poor planning on the Thalmor's part, that. Clearly Elenwen had never really believed anyone would actually attempt a break-in. Delvin wasn't complaining though. Vex had already landed, crouched on the other side, and before long, he'd joined her. One flash of his knife and the rope had been cut down and pocketed. The guard's body presented a bit more of a problem, but there was enough undergrowth around to conceal it for a while. Long enough for the two of them to get what they came for and get out, anyway.

 

“Now where?” Vex whispered.

 

“Beats me,” Delvin murmured. “But from what I've heard of that Elenwen, she'll want to get personally involved. Which means he's being held not far from her office. Which is probably not in the big building where the party is. Because if I had the dodgy stuff Madame Elenwen's likely to have lying around, I would not want it near where my guests were going to be.”

 

“So we want the smaller building,” said Vex softly. “Which is a bit of a problem, because the only entrance is on the brightly lit courtyard, with about five guards standing around and a wizard on the door. I think they will notice if you slit his throat somehow. Oh, and while I don't know about the other side, I don't see much in the way of windows on the ground floor. Any bright ideas? I'm not sure we want to fight all those Thalmor.”

 

Delvin had to admit this was a problem. However, they'd got this far. He wasn't about to give up now. It was then that fate smiled on them. On the far side of the courtyard, a guard crumpled to the floor in a spray of blood and was hauled away behind the wall he'd been unwisely leaning against. Delvin nudged Vex.

 

“Vex, my dear, see that bloodstain where a guard was not two seconds ago? It would appear that some other set of miscreants has had the same idea regarding breaking in that we have.”

 

“Reinforcements,” Vex grinned, drawing her daggers. “Who'd have thought it?”

 

Magic flashed from behind the wall, and seconds later, the guard's corpse had been re-awakened, bound sword blazing as it roared “Must... kill!” and made for one of its fellows.

 

“What is this?” the guard in question cried, raising his own weapon to fight. “Who's there?”

 

“Lots of golden elfies standing around. The jester struck once and they all fall down!” a singsong voice echoed mockingly around the courtyard. Seconds later, a small man in leather armour and a ridiculous jester's hat had sprung from nowhere and sliced one Elf's throat open with one hand and plunged a dagger into another's stomach with the other. Behind him, a blonde woman in scaled armour was cheerfully blasting away with fire and lightning at anyone else who came close.

 

“What in the name of Talos is that?” Vex whispered, unable to believe what she was seeing.

 

“Don't know, but that little guy is good,” said Delvin, already forming a few guesses as to who might have trained the little jester. “And that mage isn't bad either. Tell you what, why don't you take care of that wizard on the door, while I introduce myself and give them a little hand?”

 

Vex nodded and crept off to ambush said wizard while his back was turned and his hands occupied with trying to electrically stun the young mage. Unfortunately, the mage's only reaction to the lightning spells he was using was to throw back her head and gasp out in a parody of orgasm “Oh! Yes! Stun me harder, big boy!” and revert to hacking away at the nearest Elf with her sword instead.

 

“Foolish girl, when will you learn that Elven supremacy is – ack!” Vex neatly cut his throat and shoved the mage's lifeless form to the ground. She'd never been one for ethnic posturing anyway, and honestly, the Altmer as the Divines' chosen ones? Please. Half of them couldn't even hold a blade properly.

 

Delvin meanwhile had broken cover by wrestling one guard to the ground and breaking their neck, before dodging a fireball and knifing another. Slowly but surely, he made his way over to the jester and expertly killed another Elf that the little man hadn't quite spotted in time.

 

“Greetings, my friend,” said Delvin. “I just happened to be taking the air in this lovely Embassy and thought you and your lady friend there could use a spot of assistance. Name's Delvin Mallory of Riften, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 

Cicero finished beheading the Altmer he'd been dealing with, and turned to face him, blades raised. On seeing the newcomer was human, he cautiously lowered them.

 

“Assistance is most welcome, friend Delvin,” said Cicero. “But that you simply happened to be passing by, or that Delvin is supposed to be here, Cicero strongly doubts.”

 

“What's up, jester, you made a new friend?” the mage asked, lowering her hands as she saw no Elves left standing, other than the one she'd resurrected that was even now crumbling into dust.

 

“He says he is Delvin Mallory of Riften, but Cicero thinks he is up to nefarious business,” the jester said, still looking very dubious.

 

“Whereas you and your good lady have every right to be here, happily slaughtering every Elf in sight,” said Delvin.

 

“That's right,” Cicero giggled, doing a little dance on the spot. “Cicero and Eola even have invitations, look!” He brandished a bit of paper at Delvin, which upon examination did actually appear to be a genuine invitation addressed to a Cicero and Eola, inviting them to Elenwen's party.

 

“Well bugger me,” said Delvin, impressed. “You do as well. But surely you don't normally attend fancy little soirees and start murdering the hosts. What are you really here for?” He turned his attention to the woman Eola, sure that he would get more sense out of her than the jester, who was loudly exclaiming that actually yes he would, a party wasn't really a party until someone died messily, thus confirming all of Delvin's suspicions as to where these two had come from.

 

“Business,” said Eola, crisply elbowing Cicero in a vain attempt to get him to shut up. “Our boss wants information that she thinks the Thalmor have, and we're here to find it for her. She reckons it'll be in that building over there, where Elenwen's office is.”

 

“What a happy coincidence,” said Delvin thoughtfully. “My colleague and I were taking a little evening perambulation in just that general direction, to see if perchance something of ours that the Thalmor have, shall we say, 'borrowed', was being kept over there. Would you care to join us?”

 

“Us?” said Eola. “I only see one of you. Where's your friend?”

 

“She went on ahead,” said Delvin. He glanced at the building and noticed magic flashing on the other side of the small windows at the front. “And it appears she may have run into a spot of bother with a mage. Shall we?”

 

“You're on,” said Eola with a grin, following Delvin to the door to Elenwen's solar. “Come on, Cicero, want to kill some more Elves?”

 

“Thalmor hunt Talosites, Thalmor hunt Blades; now the Blades have sent Cicero, and he'll send Elves to their graves!” Cicero giggled, bouncing along merrily. Delvin had never been one for jesters; he'd always found them a bit creepy. It was very strange then that this particular jester who could probably outcreep anyone, Delvin was starting to like.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Vex crawled along behind the counter, already a little singed from the lightning, and not keen to get any closer to either that wizard or the storm Atronach he'd summoned. In retrospect, coming in here without Delvin had been unwise, but she'd been so sure they wouldn't spot her. Right up until that bloody Nord had looked the wrong way at the wrong time and raised the alarm. Vex was ready to gut someone, but first she would quite like them all to stop shooting lightning at her.

 

“C'mon Delvin, stop chatting up that mage and get your ass in here!” Vex muttered, drinking her last healing potion and gripping her daggers.

 

“Where are you, little thief?” the wizard called. “I shall end your miserable life and send your soul back to whatever realm can be bothered to have you!”

 

Somewhere, Vex heard a door open, and then the temperature dropped as frost magic flooded the room. In the distance, she could swear she heard a man chanting.

 

“Fire and lightning, or even frost. Challenge the jester, it's you who has lost!” The chanting dissolved into uncontrollable giggling, and the storm Atronach exploded. Vex ducked to avoid the magical backlash, and then slowly sat up, looking around to see it had all gone quiet. Well, apart from the sound of that Nord shouting abuse and then gurgling before falling silent, but Vex would take stabbing over magic any day. Slowly, she got to her feet, surveying the wreckage of the room. The storm Atronach was gone, both Nord and Thalmor were lying dead on the ground, Delvin was making his way over, the small jester was cleaning his blades, capering as he did so and humming a happy little tune, and the blonde mage... was kneeling by the wizard, carving bits off him and eating them.

 

“Dear gods,” Vex muttered. “Delvin, what sort of savages are these two?”

 

“Best not to ask,” said Delvin delicately. “They're not here to kill us, that's all I care about. He's Cicero, the lady's Eola, and if I'm not mistaken, I think they might belong to my old outfit.”

 

Vex looked them over. Eola was now using fire magic on some of the Altmer's body and frost on the rest, apparently to keep it from going off. Whereas Cicero was now singing a little song about visiting Fair Nelly, and admiring himself in a mirror that had somehow survived the onslaught.

 

“I can believe it,” said Vex. “But Dark Brotherhood – who are they here to kill? Elenwen's the most obvious target, or one of the guests, but they're in the other building...”

 

“If you can believe it, they're not here on a contract at all, they're here after some information that the Thalmor have. Why on Nirn Astrid would want top secret Thalmor documentation, I don't know, but I'm going to assume they've got a particularly obscure contract to fill.”

 

“Hope so, Mercer's not going to be pleased if the Brotherhood start venturing into the thieving business,” said Vex.

 

Cicero caught sight of Vex's face in the mirror and turned round to look at her properly. He bounced over to her, huge grin on his face.

 

“Ooh, you must be nice Delvin's colleague! Cicero is very pleased to meet you. Maybe kind Delvin and his dear friend can help poor Cicero and Eola find what they're looking for, while we could help you locate your valuable item, yes?”

 

“He,” said Vex crisply. “It's a person we're after, not an it. Find me the door to their interrogation rooms and ideally a set of keys while you're at it, although I'll manage without.”

 

“Humble Cicero shall oblige,” Cicero purred, sheathing his blades and starting to hunt around. “And if his two new friends should happen to lay eyes on anything concerning dragons, Cicero would be most pleased if they could pass it over to him.”

 

“Dragons?” Vex mouthed at Delvin, who just shook his head and shrugged. Cicero meanwhile was now poking Eola.

 

“And if sweet sister Eola could possibly restrain herself and lend a hand too, that would also be pleasing to him,” said Cicero, his cheerfulness fading a little.

 

“Why, did you want some?” Eola asked innocently, holding a strip of bloody Altmer skin towards him. Cicero went pale.

 

“Er, no. But Cicero would like the Thalmor files on dragons, if Eola would care to look?”

 

“Fine,” Eola sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Was just about done with this one anyway. Not much meat on these Altmer.”

 

The four of them scattered across the room, Delvin and Vex scouring shelves and taking anything that looked even remotely valuable, Eola rifling the bodies and shaving off choice cuts of meat while she was there, while Cicero had located Elenwen's desk and began going through the drawers. It was after he'd gone quiet that Eola became a little alarmed and went to check on him. He'd managed to get a chest open and was going through a few papers.

 

“Found anything?” Eola asked. Cicero was looking awfully solemn.

 

“They don't know anything about dragons,” he said sadly, passing one document on to her. “And this one says that Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was working for them at one time. And this one... this is on Delphine.”

 

“Delphine's got her own file? Well, what's it say?” Eola asked, leaning over his shoulder and starting to read. “Killed an entire assassination team?? Damn, she's fierce! Glad she's on our side.”

 

Cicero traced a finger along one line. “Slated for the initial purge,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “Cicero knows a little history, he knows how the Great War started. Knows what Thalmor did to the Blades agents in Valenwood. Thalmor nearly killed Delphine...” His voice trailed off, choking. Eola slipped an arm around his shoulder.

 

“But they didn't, and she's alive and well, right?” said Eola softly.

 

“For now,” said Cicero, tucking the dossier away. “But she is no longer working alone, and her continued existence is an affront to the Thalmor. Well, the Thalmor's continued existence is an affront to Cicero now, and if they try anything, anything at all to harm his dear Listener... Cicero shall be ready.”

 

Eola shivered a little. Cicero could be frightening enough when he was cheerful, but when he was like this, even she was a little afraid of him. She had no doubt that in this, he was absolutely serious and absolutely capable of carrying out his threat if pushed to it.

 

“Did Eola find anything?” Cicero asked, breaking into her thoughts. Eola reached into her pocket and produced a key.

 

“Just this on that wizard. Could be the key to the interrogation room the thieves are looking for. Are you sure there's nothing else here?”

 

“Nothing,” said Cicero sadly. “Delphine won't be pleased, but we have tried our best. Call the friendly thieves over then, we can at least free their friend. I think the door to the interrogation rooms is over there, down those stairs. Cicero tried the lock, but it was too hard for him to pick. But now we have a key and if that does not work, thieving Vex can surely get it open, yes?”

 

“She might. What you found, jester?” Vex asked, sauntering over, her pockets full of all sorts of oddments. Delvin was not far behind her, likewise loaded down with goods.

 

Eola waved the key at her. “We think this unlocks their cells. Cicero says the entrance is down there, but it's locked.”

 

Vex took the key. “Leave it to me, I'll get it open with or without this.” She made her way to the stairs, and the others were about to follow her when they all heard the sound of the front door opening.

 

“Stay where you are, little spies, we know you're in there, and we have your accomplice! Surrender or he dies!” a sharp Altmer voice called out.

 

“Cicero and I will hold them off. Go,” Eola whispered, nudging at Delvin to follow Vex. Cicero had already dropped into a crouch, unslinging his bow and lining up a shot.

 

“Better dead than tortured,” Malborn answered. “Don't worry about me, I'd rather die quickly anyway – oof!” Someone had clearly hit him, hard. Cicero released his arrow, and a gurgling yelp indicated it had found its mark.

 

“Right, kill them all!” a voice yelled, at the same time as Eola cast a rune spell and summoned an Atronach at the same time. Cicero was already moving, sneaking unseen to strike from the Elves' left.

 

“Delphine sends her regards,” Cicero snarled as, daggers drawn, he leapt into battle.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Slowly, Brynjolf opened the eye that wasn't swollen shut to see yet another blonde figure in front of him.

 

“I already told you, I don't know anything about dragons,” he growled. “Don't know where Delphine is either. Go fuck yourself, Elves.”

 

“Nice to see you too, Brynjolf,” Vex drawled as she released the bonds pinning him to the wall. Brynjolf collapsed to the ground, unable to stop himself crying out as the feeling returned to his arms and agony blazed in both limbs. Vex caught him as best she could, and next thing Brynjolf knew, Delvin was on his other side offering healing potions. Brynjolf drank them down greedily.

 

“You found me,” he whispered, voice hoarse from all the screaming. “Thank the gods. I thought... I thought I was going to die here.”

 

“Anything for you, Bryn,” said Delvin gently. “No one screws with the Guild, not even these pointy-eared bastards, if you pardon my Breton.”

 

“Yeah, they steal from us, they pay,” said Vex, fingering the hilt of her dagger. “Oh, here, we brought your armour. Time you felt like a proper thief again.”

 

Brynjolf slipped into it, aware that upstairs, a fight seemed to be going on, one involving screaming and magic and he could swear someone was singing something like “ha ha ha, hee hee hee, break the Elf across my knee!”

 

Delvin noticed Brynjolf looking at the door. “Yeah, we had a little help,” said Delvin, and Brynjolf could tell he was hiding something. “You might say we ran into a couple of kind strangers who'd had the same idea we did.”

 

“If by kind, you mean twisted and disturbing, sure, you might say that,” Vex muttered, scowling. Upstairs, the fight finally came to an end, and not long after, a terrified Bosmer ran downstairs, shaking.

 

“They are animals. _Animals!_ ” the Elf moaned. “Yes, they saved my life, but the _singing_ and the _laughing_ while he's carving people to _pieces!_ And then when they're all dead, _she starts eating them!_ I swear, I am going to Morrowind as soon as this is all over. Yes, the Dunmer are obsessed with the dead, but at least they've got some standards!”

 

“Yeah, they're a little unique...” said Delvin apologetically. “Sorry about that, mate.” The Bosmer shuddered and sat down in a corner, huddling up in terror.

 

“Do I even want to know who you ran into?” Brynjolf asked, now completely unnerved.

 

“Sadly, you ain't got a choice,” Vex sighed. “Here they come.”

 

A blonde woman in light armour emerged first, licking what looked horribly like blood off her fingers. Behind her, a small man in a jester's hat was skipping down the stairs, singing quietly to himself. For a fleeting moment, Brynjolf almost wished the Thalmor were back, but at least these two weren't torturing anyone... well, not him, anyway.

 

“Hey, is this your friend?” the woman asked. “Glad to see he's mostly in one piece.” She looked him over, curious. “So why are the Thalmor arresting Thieves Guild members anyway? Didn't have you guys down as the religious types. Oh come on, it's blatantly obvious you lot are Thieves Guild, don't look at me like that.”

 

“Aye, lass, we're Guild,” said Brynjolf. “Vex, put the knife away, no sense in hiding it at this point. I'm Brynjolf, you've already met my colleagues, and no I don't know why the Thalmor targeted me as I've never really been a Talos worshipper. Kept asking about a man called Esbern, and a lass I used to know called Delphine.”

 

The little jester's ears pricked up. “Delphine?” he cried. “Brynjolf knows Delphine? But this is fabulous news! Delphine will surely be pleased to know he survived the Thalmor... wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Brynjolf did not perchance tell the Thalmor where they might find Delphine, did he? Because if he did, Cicero may not be able to pass that good news on to sweet Delphine after all.”

 

“No, I didn't tell the Thalmor where Delphine is, because I don't know where Delphine is, because she never tells me, or anyone else, anything remotely personal about herself,” said Brynjolf, exasperated.

 

“Probably for the best if the Thalmor want her,” Delvin murmured. Brynjolf chose to ignore him, as something else had occurred to him.

 

“Wait a second, did you say you were called Cicero?”

 

“That's right.” Cicero looked at him, curious. “Brynjolf has heard of humble, insignificant Cicero?”

 

“Delphine mentioned you last time I saw her,” Brynjolf growled, now glaring furiously at him. “You might think yourself insignificant to most, not to her you aren't! She didn't tell me a lot, but I learned enough to know she thinks highly of you, lad. What she failed to mention is that you were a raving fucking loon.”

 

“Sweet Namira,” Eola muttered, eyeing Cicero nervously. Delvin and Vex were clearly thinking along similar lines, although having seen Cicero fight, neither were keen to leap immediately to Brynjolf's defence should the jester attack. Fortunately, Cicero was relatively immune to insults directed at himself.

 

“Cicero has never claimed to be anything but a poor, witless simpleton,” said Cicero cheerfully. “But to learn that Delphine thinks highly of me, that is welcome news indeed. But Brynjolf seems... displeased by this turn of events. Is Brynjolf not a friend of dear Delphine's after all? Does he not like seeing her happy?” Cicero's tone of voice had lost none of its cheerfulness, but an undertone had crept in, a dark and dangerous undertone that promised blood if the right answers were not given.

 

“Boss, be careful here,” Delvin murmured. “He may be small, but he's quick and he's vicious. Do you have to antagonise him?”

 

“If he attacks Brynjolf, I am not getting involved,” Vex said quietly to Eola. “I am not getting stabbed because Brynjolf couldn't resist starting a dick measuring contest.”

 

“I'll try and hold Cicero back,” said Eola in return. “But I can't make any promises.” Vex just nodded.

 

“That'll have to do.”

 

“Delphine's an old friend of mine,” said Brynjolf gruffly. “You on the other hand... sweet Dibella, are you seriously what she turned me down for???”

 

An odd silence descended over the room. Delvin was looking studiously at his feet, avoiding meeting anyone's eyes. Eola was looking at Brynjolf with a new understanding and a fair bit of sympathy, and she had the feeling that Vex was trying desperately hard not to laugh. Cicero on the other hand appeared lost for words.

 

“Does Brynjolf mean to tell me that he made advances on sweet Delphine? On _my_ sweet Listener Delphine?”

 

“Listener?” Delvin's head shot up at this point. “Delphine's been chosen as Listener? Well. That makes things interesting. Very interesting indeed. Wonder what Astrid thinks about that...”

 

“I did not make advances on her,” Brynjolf snapped. “She asked me to set her up with someone because she had a desperate need for company, I offered my own services, she took me up on that offer and then afterwards decided that no, for some reason she still prefers the insane lunatic in the jester's hat. I... I give up. The lass is clearly a lost cause.”

 

Cicero had sheathed his knives in wonder. “Delphine prefers Cicero to the thief Brynjolf? And Brynjolf is not an unattractive man, no. Which means Delphine must... must have feelings for her Cicero. Eola, we must leave. Now. Cicero must talk to Delphine, yes he must.”

 

“Not yet,” said Eola, watching Delvin. “I want to know who Astrid is.”

 

If Delvin had been intrigued before, he now looked utterly stunned. “You don't _know?_ But she's boss of your lot. The Dark Brotherhood.”

 

“Not my boss,” said Eola. “Only leader of the Dark Brotherhood I know is our Listener Delphine.”

 

“Delphine's in charge of the Dark Brotherhood now?” Brynjolf cried, at the same time as Cicero rather sheepishly started tugging on Eola's sleeve.

 

“Hadn't we all better just find a way out of here before the Thalmor turn up?” Vex asked sharply. “No, Brynjolf, I do not care about your love life or lack of it, and no Delvin, now is really not the time or place to get into Dark Brotherhood internal politics.”

 

“There's never a good place to get into Dark Brotherhood politics,” said Delvin knowingly. “Don't worry, Eola my friend, you and Cicero have done us a service tonight, and Delvin Mallory never forgets his friends. If Astrid ever does find out there's a second Brotherhood cell in Skyrim and that they've got the Night Mother behind them, she won't hear it from me.”

 

“She won't hear it at all if we silence the tricksy thieves now,” Cicero muttered, but Eola nudged him to be quiet.

 

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I'm not sure Delphine's ready to deal with a rival cell yet.”

 

“I do not even care,” growled Brynjolf. “Dark Brotherhood, good gods, no wonder she wouldn't tell me what sort of outfit she was recruiting for. Damn the lass. Well, that explains why she turned me down. No one in the Brotherhood that I've ever met has been anything but a bloody deviant in bed, don't suppose she's any different. Come on, we're going. That trapdoor leads out of here somewhere, it's where the Thalmor dump the bodies. Vex, see if you can get it open, Delvin, help me check the bodies, I think one of them might have a key.”

 

This was soon done, and the three thieves disappeared down said trapdoor, Vex and Brynjolf without even a look backwards, Delvin with one last grin and wave for Eola, and a respectful nod towards Cicero. Eola smiled at him, before turning towards Cicero.

 

“Are you alright? Brynjolf said some rather harsh things to you.” Cicero just nodded.

 

“Cicero is well. Cicero is very well. Cicero has learned that Delphine turned down an attractive man because she could not get Cicero out of her head. Under those circumstances, Cicero is quite willing to be magnanimous towards rejected Brynjolf.” Grinning, Cicero began to dance about, humming to himself as he began to rifle through a chest, pocketing a file he found with this mysterious Esbern's name on it. Then a noise from the corner made both of them turn round.

 

Still crouched in a corner and clearly terrified out of his wits sat Malborn. Cicero drew his knife, teeth bared.

 

“Don't hurt me!” Malborn sobbed. “I won't tell anyone you're in the Dark Brotherhood, I promise!”

 

“Cicero will make sure of that,” Cicero hissed, advancing. Only a quick move from Eola stopped him knifing the Wood Elf.

 

“Cicero, let him go. It's not like he knows where to find us again. More likely he'll send the Thalmor after the Thieves Guild if they do catch him, right? Leave the Brotherhood out of it?” She smiled sweetly at him in a way that implied if the Bosmer didn't like this arrangement, she'd let him take his chances with Cicero. Malborn hastily nodded.

 

“Yes, yes, far more likely, the Guild can look after itself, right? And everyone knows the Guild's based down in Riften. No one knows where the Brotherhood's based.” Malborn smiled hopefully at them.

 

“Alright,” said Eola, after exchanging nods with Cicero. “Now get out of here.” The Elf wasted no time in vanishing through the trapdoor after the thieves.

 

“So, that's been eventful,” said Eola. “Did we actually learn anything after all that?”

 

“Maybe,” said Cicero thoughtfully. “We know the Thalmor aren't bringing dragons back. And we know they are looking for an Esbern in Riften, who was once a Blade and a dragon expert, according to this.” He patted the report. “It is something, no?”

 

“It's more than we knew before,” Eola agreed. “Come on, let's go. Let's not keep you from your beloved Delphine any longer.” She was interrupted by a series of screams from the trapdoor, and the unmistakeable grunting of a frost troll.

 

“I think our thief friends may be having a little troll problem,” said Eola, casting her mage armour. “Shall we give them some assistance?”

 

“Let's kill someone!” was Cicero's only reply as, blades out, he slipped into the trapdoor, ready and willing to get them dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was at least partly inspired by Brynjolf's off-hand remark to Delphine that absolutely no Thalmor was going to get him any time soon. He sounded a bit too confident to me, so then I had the idea of swapping out Etienne Rarnis for Brynjolf instead, which of course means the Guild are going to take the abduction rather more seriously, which means Delvin and Vex show up, and it all just flowed from there...
> 
> Feedback always welcome! Cicero likes praise, yes he does. Almost as much as he likes fire and knives and blood and stabbing. ;)


	8. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Brynjolf's revelations at the Embassy, Cicero finally gets the courage to say something to Delphine. But in trying to get past Delphine's defences, has he perhaps got more than he bargained for? Yes, but that's the way he likes it. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual Pr0n in this one! Finally! Warnings for Cicero liking it rough and having a thing for being ordered around by domineering women. Also I ended up writing Delphine a backstory and fleshing out Cicero's a little. I've basically taken his already sad history and made it EVEN SADDER. Delphine's is also ALL THE SAD FOREVER. Still, brief as life in Skyrim can be, at least they'll have each other.

Delphine couldn't help herself. Tears of laughter were rolling down her face as Cicero and Eola between them acted out events at the Thalmor party. She'd been doing just fine, right up until Eola started doing an impression of Maven Black-Briar, and then as she and Cicero had re-enacted the Erikur/Maven fight (with Cicero as Maven and Eola as Erikur), she'd lost it completely. Finally, she pulled herself together.

 

“Oh Sithis, that's hysterical,” she finally gasped. “You two have just acquired two very powerful enemies, I hope you realise that.”

 

“Whereas infiltrating the Thalmor Embassy, killing Elves and stealing secrets, that won't have won them any enemies at all!” Calixto laughed.

 

“Better hope neither of them decide to perform the Black Sacrament,” Aranea grinned. “Because that would be really rather awkward.” Both Dunmer and Imperial dissolved into further giggles.

 

“Stop it, both of you, you'll set me off again,” said Delphine, finally regaining control of herself. “So, you managed to completely kill the mood at Elenwen's party and got away, what next?”

 

“Well, we killed a few Thalmor and got out into the courtyard like you told us,” said Cicero. “And then a fight broke out, and a couple of thieves turned up and started helping us.”

 

Delphine sat up at this, now intrigued. “Thieves? What, Guild Thieves from Riften?? Why are they breaking into the Thalmor Embassy? There have got to be easier places for them to rob than that.”

 

“The Thalmor had captured one of their people,” said Eola. “Guy named Brynjolf. Delphine, are you alright? You've gone very pale.”

 

“Delphine,” said Cicero softly, coming to kneel by her side. They were gathered in Delphine's secret cellar, with a bench and two chairs borrowed from upstairs to seat the rapidly expanding group. Delphine was sitting behind her table, surveying them all – or at least she had been. Now she was staring into space, looking as if she might burst into tears any second. Cicero really didn't think he could bear that, seeing his Listener cry, not least because he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself holding her and kissing the tears away. He wasn't at all sure she'd react well to that, so he restrained himself to crouching at her feet and taking one of her hands in his. “Delphine, my Listener, he was injured but in one piece. Nice Delvin and sneaky Vex took him back to Riften. He will be fine.”

 

“That's good to know,” said Delphine, her voice wooden. “But that they had him at all, why? He's not even a Talos worshipper, if he prays to anyone, it's probably Dibella. What have the Guild done to antagonise the Thalmor?”

 

“Well, they knew he knew you,” said Eola. Delphine flinched a little but motioned for her to go on. “And they also thought he might be able to tell them about a guy called Esbern. Seems he's the Blades' expert on dragons and they thought he might be able to tell them why the dragons are coming back.”

 

Delphine's mood abruptly changed. “Esbern's alive?” she cried, her face lighting up in unashamed delight. Cicero found himself smiling to match. She really was pretty when she was pleased.

 

“I thought the Thalmor must have got to him years ago,” she said, beaming. “That crazy old man... So they thought Brynjolf knew where he was?”

 

Cicero produced the Thalmor files on Esbern and on dragons and handed them over. “They think he's hiding out in Riften, Listener.”

 

Delphine took the files and began to read, laughing when she reached the part where the Thalmor suspected Blades involvement in the dragons' return.

 

“That's ironic. The old enemies blame each other for every misfortune.” She tapped the file. “This changes our entire game plan. We need to go to Riften at once. The Thalmor will know their security's been breached by now, they'll be throwing everything at trying to find Esbern. We need to get there first. And damn but we need a better headquarters than this. There's barely room for the five of us, there's no room for six. Talos alone knows how I'm going to explain the Night Mother.”

 

“If it's a bigger base you need, I may have an idea. I don't know if it will suit forever, but I believe it will work on a temporary basis,” said Calixto thoughtfully.

 

Delphine raised an eyebrow. She still wasn't entirely sure what she thought of the latest recruit, especially given that he'd turned out to be the infamous Butcher of Windhelm (much to Cicero's delight), but undeniably he had skills and a brain, two things she wasn't going to turn down in a hurry.

 

“Go on.”

 

“The house Hjerim, back in Windhelm,” said Calixto. “Technically it's owned by the Shatter-Shield family, but with their daughters both dead, and now the matron of the family apparently dead by her own hand, it's unlikely Thorbjorn will want to go anywhere near it. Also as it's now known the Butcher of Windhelm was using it as a secret lair, no one else wants to go in either. Before Aranea and I left to come here, I took the precaution of spreading a few rumours the ghosts of his victims were haunting it. With the Butcher now supposedly caught, no one will be taking an interest in the house, which means we could use it. I could even acquire it myself, I suppose, I do have some money put by, and I'm a Windhelm citizen with property rights. I promise you it's spacious, if rather bare.”

 

Delphine looked thoughtful. “It's a possibility. I'd prefer somewhere more isolated, but we don't have a lot of options right now. All right. Calixto, I had a job for you in Windhelm anyway, looks like you now have two. Get over there tomorrow and secure Hjerim, get it into a basic state of habitability.”

 

“Will do. And the second task?”

 

“I've had another contract,” said Delphine. “Someone in Windhelm called Aventus Aretino wants someone killing. Meet him, find out what he wants. Take care of it yourself if you can, but if it's going to be difficult or dangerous, meet us back here, we'll plan what to do then.”

 

“Aventus Aretino?” Calixto stared at her. “Him? But he's insane, everyone knows that. Boy lost his mother a few months back, got sent to Riften orphanage, ran away, came back and started squatting in his old house. They all say he's performing the Black Sacrament, trying to summon...” He stopped, realising what he was saying. “Ah. Well, I guess he's succeeded, hasn't he?”

 

“He has,” said Delphine, a little taken aback herself. “How old did you say he was?”

 

“Oh, about nine or ten. The boy has no money, Delphine, how on Nirn do you think he intends to pay us?? Do you think he knows what he is doing?”

 

“Boy or not, he has performed the Sacrament,” said Cicero sharply. “Someone must die and he must pay us for the death. Such is the law of Sithis.”

 

“He's a child,” Delphine whispered, troubled at the idea of involving a child in the Brotherhood's affairs but not seeing much choice. “All right. Visit him, take the contract. But Calixto, don't expect much in the way of payment for this. Take whatever he offers you, even if it's virtually worthless. Don't take anything off him until the job's done. This contract's going to be less about the gold than about telling the world the Brotherhood are back and to be feared. So unless he's got some very specific wishes to the contrary, kill the target secretly and silently, but ensure the body's found and displayed in such a way that leaves little doubt it was a Brotherhood killing. Piece of parchment with a black handprint on it, make it the victim's handprint not your own, nightshade scattered over the body, that sort of thing. This one's going to be more about the publicity than about the prize, I'm afraid.”

 

“It shall be done, Listener,” Calixto promised. He left the room to get ready and find a bed for the night, probably wisely since there was going to be a bit of a shortage at the Sleeping Giant that night.

 

“And what would you have us do, Listener?” Aranea asked. “Have you had any other contracts from the Night Mother, or are we all going to Riften?”

 

“We are,” Delphine confirmed. “Get some sleep while you can, my brothers and sisters, because we leave at first light for Riften. Aranea, take the room across the inn that Calixto doesn't. Eola, there's some spare bedding under my bed, make up a bedroll for yourself and crash out in my room. Cicero, you'll be down here next to the Night Mother as usual. Any questions?”

 

There were none. Aranea and Eola slipped out of the room, taking care to close the door behind them, leaving Cicero and Delphine alone.

 

“Are you not going to bed, my Listener?” Cicero asked.

 

“In a second,” said Delphine. “I'm just a little overwhelmed by it all. Esbern being alive still, and Brynjolf getting himself caught. I can hardly believe it. Especially Bryn, he was always so careful...”

 

“Even the most careful can be caught, if they are distracted. Say by a recent emotional upset...” Cicero hesitated, then decided to just go for it. “Delphine, my Listener, Brynjolf knew you, yes, and he spoke to humble Cicero of you. He... oh my Listener, tell me it is not true what he said! That you were so sad and lonely, you asked him to find you a stranger to lie with. That the sweet Listener agreed to lie with Brynjolf because she felt no one else would want her?”

 

Delphine had gone still, absolutely still, and for a moment Cicero began to wonder if this had been a good idea. Then she spoke, her voice cold as the grave.

 

“He had absolutely no right to tell you that. None! Because it is _no one else's business_ who I sleep with, or why! I have physical needs like anyone else, if I wish to go and satisfy them with a willing participant, that's up to me and them, and no one else gets to sit and pass judgement. Not you, not Brynjolf, not anyone!” Her voice sharpened on that last sentence, and Cicero prostrated himself in front of her, not even daring to meet her eyes.

 

“Forgive your humble fool, Listener, he is but a witless idiot who had no wish to offend his dear Listener. But Listener, oh my Listener, my Delphine, Cicero is your humble servant as always, and if you have needs, even such needs as that... you have but to ask your Cicero. He is willing, more than willing, to tend to his beloved Listener. Cicero begs you, do not lie with strangers who will not appreciate you, not care for you. If you are plagued by baser urges, Cicero is here for you, Delphine. Take them out on him.”

 

Delphine did not respond, and Cicero couldn't even bring himself to look up. He hadn't exactly meant to say that much, but the words were out now, and at least she knew. And thanks to Brynjolf's utter lack of discretion, he had a fair idea she wouldn't reject him outright. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't worried.

 

“Oh Cicero,” he heard her say, her voice now gentle. “Do you honestly think I hadn't realised?”

 

“Listener?” he whispered, finally risking looking up. She no longer looked angry, if anything she looked... sad.

 

“I know, Cicero,” she said. “I've known for ages how you felt. I just didn't know what to do about it, and I didn't want to hurt you. Guess it's too late for that now, huh.”

 

Cicero sat up, feeling his pulse quicken. Delphine knew... and if Brynjolf hadn't been lying when he'd said Delphine liked him... so why hadn't Delphine done anything about it?

 

“Cicero is not hurt, but he is very confused,” he said, frowning. “Brynjolf said that you turned him down, because he wasn't me. Now Brynjolf may have been lying or mistaken, of course, but if he wasn't... Sweet Delphine, if you do not want your Cicero in that way, tell me now, and we shall never speak of this again. But if you do... Listener, please, Cicero may be a simple fool, but he is still a man, with a man's heart and a man's desires, and he is yours if you want him.”

 

“It's not that simple,” Delphine sighed. “Cicero, you have to understand I'm wanted by the Thalmor, I've been on the run for years. At least part of the reason I've survived is because I've worked alone up until now. Working closely with others, it's not an easy thing for me to do. Allying with me, being with me, it's dangerous, Cicero. Do you know, every single man I've ever been with, every single one of them, has ended up in a Thalmor dungeon, or dead by their hand. Every single one, and all but one of them died. It's only down to luck and his Guild proving loyal that Brynjolf made it out of that Embassy. I'm not sure I could bear anyone else suffering at their hands on my account.”

 

Cicero could barely suppress a laugh at that point. “Beloved Delphine, Cicero has already ruined one of their leader's parties, killed many of her people, stolen important documents and released one of her valuable prisoners. If Cicero was not an enemy of the Thalmor before, he certainly is now.” He reached into his pocket and produced the other dossier he'd taken, the one on Delphine herself. “Cicero also found this. He thinks Delphine should have it. I read it, Listener, I know they want you eliminated. If your safety lay in solitude, then best be we all leave you now. But Cicero will not go, no. Cicero will defend his Listener to the last, even if she does not want him. Indeed, it seems to Cicero that neither he nor she will be in less danger if she does not claim him as hers than if she were to take him to her bed this very night.”

 

Delphine scanned the dossier then tossed it aside, apparently caring little for its contents. “It would make a difference to me, Cicero,” she said, her voice sounding heavy and weary.

 

“Difference? But why...” Cicero tilted his head and the answer came to him. But how to deal with it and get through his beautiful, fierce, stubborn Listener's defences? In the back of his mind, the soul of a trapped dragon howled in fury, and a little of that strength found its way to Cicero. In that moment, he knew what to do. “My Listener. Do not tell me you are afraid. You are! You are afraid. You are afraid of humble Cicero.”

 

“I'm not afraid of you!” said Delphine, outraged at the very thought. “I'm not afraid of the Thalmor either, so don't start with that. In fact, Cicero, you're beginning to try my patience.”

 

“Listener is scared of something though,” said Cicero, cackling madly and starting to dance around the room. “Cicero does not know what, but he will find out. It must be terrifying indeed to frighten his Listener. Creatures of nightmare, creatures of night; darker than those for the Listener to take fright!”

 

“Cicero, I'm warning you, shut up and come here,” Delphine snapped, losing her patience and getting to her feet. Cicero ignored her.

 

“Some fear spiders, some fear bears. But the Listener fears only her own love affairs!” Cicero chanted, certain that would get under her skin like nothing else. He was right. Before he could utter anything more, Delphine pounced.

 

“Not. Another. Word,” Delphine seethed, grabbing Cicero and shoving him bodily against the wall, pinning his arms to the stone. Cicero responded by giggling and squirming.

 

“Ooh, Listener, yes, this is much more like it,” he purred.

 

“Bite your tongue, fool, or I will cut it out,” Delphine hissed, her face inches from his own, eyes blazing with fury. Still Cicero seemed unafraid.

 

“That would be a pity,” he replied. “Cicero has many uses he could put his tongue to, including pleasuring his sweet Listener. Such a shame if she were to miss out on that...”

 

“You have no idea what gives me pleasure,” Delphine whispered, leaning in closer. Cicero closed his eyes and tilted his head back, gasping with delight.

 

“Then show me, sweet Delphine,” Cicero whispered. Delphine blinked, the fury seeming to clear, and then, to Cicero's delight, it was replaced with a cold, calculating grin.

 

“All right then. Your safe word is Sanctuary. Say that, I'll stop and leave you alone. But for as long as you don't say it... you're mine to use and abuse as I see fit. That what you wanted, jester?” She glanced down and noticed the bulge at his groin, the tell-tale sign of an erection just waiting to be released. “Clearly.”

 

Cicero smiled, a dark and twisted smile to match her own. “As my Listener pleases,” he growled, his voice dropping a whole octave lower than its usual high pitched tone. Delphine's eyes widened, and she visibly shivered. Reaching forward, she grabbed his jester shirt and tore it open, heedless of the buttons flying everywhere. Underneath, Cicero's skin was pale but flushed, and despite his small frame, he was well-muscled enough, with a small amount of chest hair and a trail of hair leading from his navel downwards. Unable to resist any longer, and tired of trying, Delphine grabbed him by the hair and pressed her body up against his, teeth sinking into his shoulder. Cicero spasmed as she did so, crying out but whether in pain or pleasure or both, it was impossible to tell. She thrust a knee in between his legs, feeling that impressive erection against her thigh, and began to nibble his shoulder, moving closer to his neck and alternating with licks and kisses and sharp little nibbles as she began to work her way up his neck. Cicero, his arms now free, responded by wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer, hands roaming over her back, one reaching down to grab her arse and pull her in to him, the other reaching up and loosening her leather hair tie, eager fingers running through her hair as it fell loose around them. Delphine gently teased his earlobe between her teeth, nibbling at the soft flesh, listening to him whimper. It was a beautiful sound, hearing him respond to her every touch. She could see bruises starting to form on his neck and shoulder, and she knew that she must have hurt him, but he didn't seem to mind.

 

“I'm very much afraid I've marked you, dear Cicero,” said Delphine casually. “You'll have bruises and bites for all to see tomorrow.”

 

“Cicero shall wear them with pride,” he replied, still using that same low voice from earlier. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her, all foolish artifice gone, eyes heavy with lust and deadly serious. Delphine could feel her loins firing up just looking at him. Grabbing the hat and flinging it into a corner, she pulled him to her and kissed him with all the ferocity and lust she could muster. Cicero moaned beneath her and opened his mouth, tongue sliding between her lips. Delphine gently raked her teeth along it, causing him to quiver yet further, and she felt him go weak at the knees as she slid her hands under his shirt and began raking her nails not-at-all gently down his back. Staggering back to her desk, she swept the contents off the table and sat down on the desk itself, bringing Cicero with her. She wrapped her legs around him, moaning softly as she felt his cock rub against her. Cicero broke off the kiss, resting his head on her shoulder, gasping for breath. Delphine held him and stroked his hair.

 

“Done in yet?” Delphine asked. Cicero shook his head.

 

“No,” he said gruffly. “Cicero is still ready and willing to serve his Delphine.”

 

“Is that so?” Delphine murmured. “In that case, my fool, you mentioned earlier the many uses to which that tongue of yours could be put. Get on your knees and demonstrate.”

 

Cicero obligingly dropped to his knees and began to push back the skirt of Delphine's leather armour, gloved fingers trailing across the skin of her thighs. Reaching for his dagger, he gently sliced her underwear off, before placing the blade to one side and leaning in to gently kiss her thighs, brush hair aside and run the tip of his tongue over her.

 

He couldn't see her face from where he was kneeling, but the moan of “oh Talos, yes!” and the fingers grabbing his hair and pushing him further in told him all he needed to know. Wrapping one arm around her leg and reaching behind her with the other, he closed his eyes and tasted her, relishing the feel of his Listener's most intimate parts against his face, the feel of her, the taste of her, the sounds she made in response... heavenly. Pulling off his gloves and sliding first one finger inside her, then another, he licked at her clitoris, listening with satisfaction as she bucked and moaned at his touch, letting go of his hair as she leant back to rest fully stretched out on the desk, one leg around his shoulders making sure he didn't go anywhere. Cicero sped up what he was doing as she breathed faster, writhing and crying out her pleasure. Finally she threw her head back, crying out as she hit orgasm, clinging on to the desk and calling to Talos, Sithis, any other passing deities before descending into wordless sounds of pleasure and finally collapsing in silence. Cicero stopped what he was doing and got up, perching on the desk and watching her, waiting for her to come back to herself. Sithis but she was beautiful like this, hair unbound and surrounding her lovely face like the sun, skin flushed with excitement and body utterly limp, all tension gone from her. There was just enough room for him to stretch out beside her, one hand resting on her stomach.

 

“Listener?” he said softly. “Are you... was that... is Delphine satisfied with her Cicero?”

 

Delphine nodded, a smile on her face, eyes flickering open but still heavy-lidded.

 

“Oh yes,” Delphine murmured. “Should have done this sooner. Can't think why not. What about you, are you...” Her eyes opened properly as she looked him over and promptly blushed.

 

“Sithis, Cicero, what did I do to you? You're covered in bruises and scratches, look at you.” She looked vaguely guilty as she surveyed the extent of the damage, from the purple-black marks on his neck and shoulder, to the vivid red scratches on his sides that clearly curved behind on to his back.

 

“Do not apologise,” said Cicero firmly. “Never apologise. Cicero will bear these and more for his dear Listener. And if Delphine is concerned for her dear Keeper's wellbeing, why, she need only get skilful Aranea to teach her the Healing Hands spell so that she may heal her sweet Cicero after she has finished taking her pleasure.”

 

Delphine looked thoughtful at this. “That's an idea. And who says I need to use it only when I've finished, hmm?”

 

Cicero shivered at the prospect. “Oh, my Listener is a cruel, cruel woman!” A sly grin spread over his face. “Cicero could not be more pleased.”

 

“I'm sure you could,” said Delphine, eyeing the still-present bulge in his trousers. “You didn't even come.”

 

“Oh. Well, no. That is not important,” said Cicero dismissively. “Cicero can always take care of that later if he needs to. Delphine is satisfied, that is the important thing.”

 

“You're all heart,” said Delphine, feeling the need for sleep starting to catch up with her. “Here, do something for me. Get some of those leather cloths you use to wipe down the Night Mother with, then come join me.”

 

“Humble Cicero lives to serve,” said Cicero cheerfully. As he skipped off to obey her commands, slipping the remains of his shirt off to reveal yet more scratches decorating his back, Delphine slowly got to her feet and sank into her chair, aching all over but pleasantly relaxed. Cicero was not long in returning, and she beckoned him towards her, grabbing him as he approached and hauling him playfully into her lap.

 

“Ooh, Listener!” he squealed, handing her the cloths. “Are you going to put poor Cicero over your knee? Punishment for ruining your underwear perhaps? Please say yes.”

 

“I've got other pairs,” said Delphine, taking a cloth and spreading it over Cicero's lap. “And I did ruin your shirt, to be fair.” She unlaced his trousers and reached inside. “No, I was going to reward you for being a good boy.” She took hold of his cock and began to move her hand, slowly at first but speeding up as Cicero held on to her, moaning into her shoulder. She tightened her grip and watched as he closed his eyes, whimpering.

 

“Yes, oh yes, my Delphine, yes,” he gasped, holding on to her. “Sithis, yes, like that!” He clung on to her and it wasn't long before he let go, howling his release into her shoulder as he came. Delphine wrapped his cock with the leather cloth, holding him until he was finished. Finally, he collapsed in her arms, spent. Delphine wiped him down, wrapped the cloth up and placed it to one side, before tucking him back into his trousers and holding him tight.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Cicero does not deserve such kindness, no.”

 

“Don't apologise,” Delphine soothed him. “I enjoyed watching you.” Cicero's eyes lit up.

 

“Did you? Sweet Delphine enjoyed watching Cicero? Really?” He looked surprised. “That is a surprise. Sweetest Andronica always seemed to prefer it when Cicero was howling for mercy. You are... less cruel than she was. Cicero thinks that may be a good thing, on the whole, but Listener must not hold back on sweet, sweet tortures because she fears harming Cicero, no! Cicero can take much punishment before he gives in.”

 

“Who was Andronica?” Delphine asked. “Someone you knew back in Cyrodiil?” Cicero nodded.

 

“She was one of Cicero's Dark Sisters in Cheydinhal. When he came there after losing his Family at Bruma, all of his brothers and sisters made him welcome, but she took a special interest in poor, bereaved Cicero. She had... dark tastes, and she saw easy prey in poor Cicero. It was not long before she had him chained up in the torture chamber, delighting in hurting him and using him for her own twisted desires.” Cicero sighed happily at the thought. “It was a good time in my life. I would get up in the evening, get my orders, go out, kill, come home, get flogged, cut and beaten by dear Andronica and collapse with her into a bed. Life was so much simpler back then. I miss it.”

 

“What happened?” Delphine asked, hoping he didn't miss this Andronica too much. “I take it was something bad.” Cicero nodded sadly.

 

“There was trouble in Bravil, and she was sent there to help protect the Night Mother and the last Listener, along with a few others. Cicero begged to go with her, but it was not to be, our Sanctuary leader said I was needed in Cheydinhal. She... she was killed when nasty Skooma barons invaded the Mother's crypt. Died defending Listener Alisanne with her life. Cicero... Cicero should have been there too, it is the great shame of his life that he could not save either sweet Andronica or his Listener.” He buried his head in her hair, and Delphine knew that he was trying not to cry. She kissed his cheek and rubbed his back gently.

 

“It sounds hard. But you can't blame yourself. You'd been ordered to stay, what could you have done? And if you had been there, you might have been killed too. And then you wouldn't be here now, and who would have looked after the Night Mother then? What would the world do without a Dragonborn? And who'd look after me, hmm?” Delphine stroked his cheek gently, and was rewarded by Cicero looking up with a smile.

 

“Maybe this is how Sithis intended it then,” he said softly. “That last night we spent together – she led me straight to her bed, not the torture den, and we made love like any other couple. After, she held me and kissed me on the lips, and she finally told me she loved me. I... of course I felt the same, we'd been together two years by that point. I told her that, and she burst into tears and said she was sorry for being so cruel to me. I told her the cruelty was why I loved her and she cried even more and said she didn't deserve me. I held her and told her it was tough luck on her part, she was stuck with me.” Cicero laughed. “She laughed then, and told me if that was how I felt, we'd better get married. Sweet Delphine, I could have died from happiness. We spent that night unable to keep our hands off each other, and then I saw her off to Bravil in the morning, making her promise to come home and come back to me intact. I never saw her again. And then the Night Mother came, and we had no Listener and I had lost my Andronica for good. I wonder what she would think of me now, Keeper of the Night Mother and sworn servant to the new Listener.”

 

“I think,” said Delphine, stroking him tenderly, “that she would be very proud. And then she would probably kill me for touching her Cicero, and haul you off to the nearest dungeon for punishment and re-education, as the Thalmor say.”

 

Cicero burst out laughing. “Listener must not say such terrible things!” said Cicero playfully, the serious mood passing. “Cicero will always miss her a little, yes... but it was a long time ago and he was a different man then. Cicero lost Listener and lover, yes it's true, and it nearly sent him over the edge. Maybe it did, who knows. But there is a new Listener now, and Cicero has a new lover, and this time they are one and the same person. And Cicero has no intention of sitting idly by in a Sanctuary while his Listener goes into danger, no. This time, the Listener shall have Cicero's blades by her side, and he shall fight until his last breath to save her if he has to.” He trailed a finger down Delphine's cheek, noticing a shadow in her eyes as he spoke. “Because he could not bear it if he lost her as well,” he said softly. “And Cicero now thinks he knows what Delphine was afraid of.”

 

Delphine tightened her grip on him. “If all goes well, it won't come to that,” she whispered. “But it's not just losing you that worries me. What I'm most afraid of isn't anything outside me, Cicero. It's in here.” She tapped her head. “The Night Mother chose me because I already had the touch of Sithis on me, and she saw it truly. I'm not a good person, Cicero. Even as a girl, I always liked getting into fights – liked the roughness, liked what I could do with my fists, liked seeing someone else in pain because of me. I joined the Legion because it gave me a way to keep doing that and get praised for it. Then the Blades recruited me, and a whole new vista opened up. Except I let my desires get the better of me and went too far. That dossier says I was recalled to Cyrodiil just before the war – bad luck for the Thalmor, but not good for me either. It was on a disciplinary charge, Cicero. I'd taken my rage out on someone we were interrogating and killed him before we could get everything we wanted out of him. Someone reported me and I ended up in a cell in the Imperial City pending investigation. Of course, then the war broke out and the Blades decided that merciless sadists who hated the Thalmor more than life itself were exactly what they needed, so out I came. After the war of course, it all stopped mattering anyway. By a stroke of good luck, someone I'd busted out of a Thalmor prison happened to have influence here in Skyrim and got me a job as his father's housecarl. So off I went to Windhelm.”

 

Cicero's eyes widened. “Ulfric Stormcloak! Delphine, there is another dossier we retrieved on him, you must read it, it says he's a Thalmor plant!”

 

Delphine placed a finger on his lips. “Yes. I know, although I had no idea then. Back then, all I knew was that this at least was somewhere relatively safe – that as long as I kept my head down, the Thalmor might leave me alone. And Jarl Hoag Stormcloak was a good man, a kind man, who also worshipped Talos in secret, had lost his wife some years previously and it turns out had a thing for blonde warriors who could wrestle him into submission. Yes, Cicero, you're not the only one who lost a lover.”

 

“Kind Hoag died, and Ulfric did not need you?” Cicero asked gently. Delphine shook her head.

 

“Worse. Hoag and I would slip away often and play together. He liked being tied up and punished, not unlike you.” Here she allowed herself a smile as Cicero blushed and giggled, squirming in her lap. “He was good for me, Cicero. Taught me control, responsibility. I had a willing victim who I truly cared for and didn't want to hurt, he had desires he'd not been able to explore in years. I became a little less wild, a little calmer, and he knew a happiness he'd not had in a long time. Five years I was at Windhelm, and they were a breath of sanity after the war. I even overheard him quietly discussing with his steward if it was acceptable for a Jarl to marry their housecarl, and the two of them seeming to decide that it was. I could have cried for joy, but kept quiet – I didn't want him to know I knew what he was planning. Two days later, we were at one of our usual games when it happened. The Thalmor found us, got into the palace somehow. Hoag was bound and helpless, and while I fought hard, I couldn't save him. They butchered a defenceless old man like an animal, Cicero.” Now it was Delphine who had tears in her eyes at the memories. “I went mad, I must have slaughtered them all in fury. When the guards found me, there wasn't much left of the Thalmor, just me cradling Hoag's body and weeping. Ulfric was away, imprisoned in Markarth, but when he got back, I offered him my own life in recompense for getting his father killed. Imagine my surprise when he broke down in tears himself and confessed everything – that he'd been a Thalmor agent, he'd let slip to his handler that his father's lover and housecarl was a Breton called Delphine, who he'd secured a job for after she helped him during the war. I could have killed him, Cicero. Would have done if Ulfric hadn't previously studied with the Greybeards and sent me flying with a Shout. That brought Galmar Stone-Fist and about five guards running, and they disarmed me eventually, but not before I'd killed one of them. Ulfric never brought any charges, too guilty for causing it all. But he promised before I left that he'd cut ties with the Thalmor and make amends somehow for what they'd done to Skyrim. Gave me a generous compensation payment and advised me to hide out in Riften for a bit until the Thalmor lost my trail. So I did. Hid out in the Ratway, then joined the Guild, made a bit of money, eventually left six, seven years later after killing a mark. Made my way to Whiterun, thinking of joining the Companions maybe, then found there was an inn for sale in Riverwood. It was perfect. So here I am, and here I was until I saw a dragon fly down the valley and realised things were about to get interesting again. Went to warn the Jarl, ended up getting asked to go to this ruin and retrieve the Dragonstone after I'd foolishly said I thought it might be there. I brought it back, and while I'm going over it with Farengar, what happens but Irileth shows up with this insane jester, claiming to have found a Dragonborn.” Delphine couldn't help but smile fondly at the memory. “That was only three weeks ago and since then my life has turned itself upside down.”

 

“It has, it has!” Cicero cooed. “But you are part of the Dark Brotherhood now, and we look after our own. Here there will be no traitorous Ulfric to whisper your whereabouts to the Thalmor. And while you are rendering your Cicero helpless to your every whim, your loyal brothers and sisters will be guarding you, ready to give warning if trouble strikes. Enough warning to free your Cicero and put a blade in his hand, and that, sweet Listener, will be all you shall need. Cicero shall do the rest, sweet, sweet Delphine. You need have no fear. Cicero shall be here for you. Cicero shall always be here.”

 

“Do you know, I don't doubt you,” Delphine murmured, stifling a yawn and realising just how exhausted she was. “Talos, I need to hit the sack...”

 

“And so you shall,” said Cicero, slipping out of her arms and pulling her to her feet. “Come, Delphine shall rest in my bedroll, while your humble Cicero finds some bedding for himself, even if he has to kick that slattern Eola out of it first.”

 

Delphine allowed herself to be guided over to his bedding and sat down. She made to take her boots off, but Cicero was there first, lovingly removing them for her.

 

“I'm quite capable of doing this for myself, you know,” said Delphine.

 

“Cicero knows, but what is the point of my Listener having a Keeper if he does not do any Keeping, hmm? There, now my Listener's feet may rest in comfort. Would my Listener require assistance with her armour too?” Without waiting for an answer, he laid her boots neatly to one side and scooted around to crouch behind her, carefully undoing the fastenings and lifting it off her. Delphine realised just a second too late that this now left her practically naked apart from her breast-coverings, which didn't really cover an awful lot, if she was honest. Not to mention that while she'd kept in shape, age was starting to tell on her. Fortunately, Cicero didn't seem to mind. Once he'd laid her armour reverently to one side, she felt him slip his arms around her to rest on her belly, his chest pressed against her back. Delphine leaned back into him, feeling the temporary embarrassment fade away. The only naked woman he'd seen in over a decade had been the Night Mother after all, it's not like she had competition or anything.

 

“Cicero is honoured to see his Listener like this,” she heard him whisper.

 

“Hope you're not disappointed,” she said, stroking his arms. “I'm not as young as I used to be.”

 

“Nor is Cicero, and that is probably for the best or he would even now be preparing to take the most base and vile liberties with the Listener's person,” he chuckled.

 

“Behave yourself, jester,” said Delphine. “If anyone's going to take liberties with anyone's person around here, it'll be me.” Cicero shivered in delight at the prospect.

 

“Ooh, Listener, Cicero does like it when you get all firm and commanding,” Cicero giggled. “If he cannot hear Mother's sweet, sweet voice, hearing his Listener's commands is the next best thing.”

 

Delphine wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. She climbed into the bedroll and looked up at him, curious.

 

“Cicero, I have to ask – would you still want me if I wasn't the Listener?”

 

Cicero did not even blink as he pulled the cover over her and tucked the pillow beneath her head, smoothing her hair out.

 

“Sweet Delphine, Cicero thought you were kind and pretty when first he laid eyes on you, and after he saw you laying waste to all those bandits, wizards and draugr in Ustengrav, and to all the beasts, thieves and troublemakers we met on the road... My Listener, Cicero desired you more with every kill you made. Of course I would still want you. But Listener,” and here he grew serious, “had you not been, Cicero is not certain... that is, he does not think he would have suffered a Blade to live. He is glad he did though,” he added hastily. “And Delphine... I am sorry. For threatening you and hurting you. I was angry and upset and I did not know and... I would not hurt you now, you know that. Not for all the world. Cicero l- Cicero cares for his sweet Delphine dearly, both as a woman and a Listener. He will protect you with his life if he has to.”

 

“I know,” said Delphine, taking his hand. “It's alright. You don't have to say anything else. I forgive you. Even then, I think I knew you didn't really want to kill me. If you had, you would have done it while I slept. I could tell you wanted to talk as much as you wanted to harm. More, I think. I'm sorry I lied to you.”

 

Cicero looked away, shrugging. “Lie became truth. It doesn't matter now. You are Listener. My Listener. That is all that matters.”

 

_My Listener._ The others called her that too, of course, but it sounded so different coming from him. When the others said it, it didn't have the same connotations of worship and surrender it did from him. For them, a sign of respect and loyalty. For him... something else entirely. It scared her half to death. She'd never wanted anything more.

 

“You don't regret you weren't called instead of me?” she asked, remembering his fury when she'd first told him she'd been chosen, and sometimes she still saw hints of regret and unhappiness when she spoke of having been given contracts. Best to know now if there was any resentment hiding in there.

 

Cicero fell silent, toying with the edge of the bedroll. “A little,” he admitted. “And Cicero did want to be Listener and hear dear Mother's words so much, so very much! But it was not to be and she has chosen you, and Cicero is content with that now. He sees what you have to do and he does not want that sort of responsibility. He is happy merely to serve and to keep the Night Mother and her Listener.” He stroked her hair tenderly and kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, sweet Listener, and have no fear. No one will harm you while Cicero is near.”

 

Reassured, Delphine closed her eyes, a smile on her face, feeling, for the first time in a long time, something like peace.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Of course, peace was the last thing she felt when she woke from a nightmare of the Thalmor. It was the usual nightmare, with Hoag again, except this time it wasn't Hoag, it was Esbern in chains telling her off for not coming to save him sooner. Then the Thalmor burst in, led by Elenwen, and she turned to free Esbern, but it wasn't Esbern in chains now, it was Cicero singing at her to never fear while her jester was near. It was the last thing he said before one of the Thalmor ran him through. Delphine screamed as the life bled out of him... and woke to total darkness, a strange bed and the unfamiliar sensation of someone at her back with an arm wrapped around her. Delphine grabbed the arm and flipped over, pinning its owner to the ground with her other arm pinning him down by the throat.

 

“Who are you? What do you want?” she shouted at him. The figure gasped and flailed, wheezing a response that sounded a bit like “L'zner! 'z me! H'ble S'sro! Plz, s'nctry!”

 

Slowly and belatedly, memories of last night returned as Delphine realised she was not in fact in a Thalmor prison and more to the point, just who she was currently pinning down in a choke-hold.

 

“Oh gods. Cicero. Oh gods, I'm so sorry. Are you alright? Please talk to me.” She reached out, blind, and rubbed his back as he coughed and gasped for breath.

 

“Is fine,” he wheezed. “Will be fine. Cic'ro just needs... to catch his breath. Sithis... never sneaking up on you...” She heard him collapse and cringed, guilty.

 

“I am so sorry,” she whispered. “I was having a nightmare... about the Thalmor, and what I told you about... last night. And then I woke up and couldn't see anything, and someone was touching me and I didn't... I thought...”

 

“Listener,” he whispered, sounding a little healthier although still breathless. “It is alright. Cicero understands. Cicero has had a hard life, but Delphine's has been little better. Here.” Light flared as Cicero reached for his little tinderbox and lit a few nearby candles before turning back to face Delphine, lying on his side, resting on one elbow and rubbing his neck with his free hand. “Is... is Delphine alright? Cicero will be well in a little while, now he can breathe again, but Cicero has seen before those who have seen horrors and cannot forget. It is hard to recover when no potion or spell can heal your wounds...”

 

“I'm fine,” said Delphine, wishing her brain would stop cheerfully flashing up that dream-image of Cicero in chains, breathing his last with a Thalmor blade in his chest and that her hands would stop shaking, dammit. “No, I am. I just had a nightmare, and it was dark, and I didn't know where I was. It won't happen again.”

 

“Delphine,” said Cicero softly, sitting upright and turning those impossibly gentle brown eyes on her. “You do not need to hide the truth from your Cicero. Tell me the rest.”

 

“It's always the same dream,” Delphine whispered. “Someone I care about in chains and murdered while I watch. It was Esbern at first, then I looked away and then back, and it was you and they...” She couldn't finish the sentence. Cicero took her into his arms and kissed her cheek, rubbing her back.

 

“It was just a dream,” she whispered as he held her. “Just a dream.”

 

“Cicero knows dreams,” he replied, stroking her hair. “Tricksy, twisty dreams, made of fear or desire or both, tormenting and teasing, turning poor Cicero's mind with their threats and their promises. Yes, Cicero has known often waking up not sure what is real and what not. He knows, he does! That they taunt and befuddle his poor Delphine as well, this is not so good. But Cicero will help however he can. This is real, Cicero is real and he is here. He will watch Delphine as she sleeps, tend to her as she dreams, chase nightmares away.”

 

Delphine had an image of Cicero forswearing his own need for sleep, loyally watching over her all night, every night and stifled a giggle.

 

“Thank you. But all we really need to do is make sure there's a natural light source somewhere so I know where I am when I wake up. That way if I wake up suddenly, at least I won't think... well.” She looked around the room, so familiar, but so eerie in the faint light provided by the candles Cicero had been able to reach. “I hadn't realised it was so dark down here once the candles were out. How on Nirn do you cope with sleeping in the dark??”

 

“Oh, Cicero is used to it,” Cicero replied, but he didn't sound quite as blasé as his words suggested. “Cicero used to wake up alone in the dark all the time while he was alone at Cheydinhal. He does not mind it so much.” He almost managed to stop his lip quivering at the memory. Almost. Delphine felt her heart go out to him. Here was someone else who'd suffered and needed looking after.

 

“Well, not any more,” said Delphine firmly. “Next time we're all here, Eola will be in a bedroll in Aranea's room, and you'll be in my room. I want you next to me, Dragonborn, and we've already established it's not a good idea for me to wake up in total darkness.”

 

Cicero's grip on her tightened. “Delphine... my Listener is too kind. Too, too kind to her poor, dear Cicero.”

 

“Apart from waking up and trying to strangle him?” Delphine asked. Cicero just shrugged.

 

“You stopped when you realised. That is all Cicero ever asks.”

 

Delphine held him, feeling more glad than ever that Talos had given her this particular Dragonborn to protect. Deadly as he was, he was a lot more vulnerable than he appeared. Then she heard the door upstairs, the false back of her wardrobe being slid open, and paranoia kicked back in.

 

“Cicero, go see who that is,” Delphine murmured. “If it's not one of us, stall them until I can get dressed and take over.”

 

Cicero nodded and slipped away to retrieve his daggers. He was barefoot and topless but had kept his trousers on – presumably he'd felt his Listener should not have to watch him wander around naked unless she explicitly said so. Very thoughtful of him. Silently, he crept towards the stairs.

 

Their visitor halted mid-step, muttered something, and then a magelight flashed into being, pinning itself to the ceiling. Cicero hesitated but did not lower his blades.

 

“Hey,” Eola called downstairs, “you up yet, Champ? And have you got our Delphine down there?”

 

Cicero sheathed his knives and stood up, turning from predator to annoyed in about three seconds.

 

“Yes, she's here. What do you want?”

 

“I was bringing you both breakfast,” said Eola, clearly pouting even if Delphine could not see her. “It's half an hour past sunrise. You wanted to be off early?”

 

“We did,” Delphine groaned, not feeling at all ready, but knowing she had little choice. “Come on in, Eola, we should eat and sort ourselves out, and quickly. Calixto and Aranea up?”

 

“Calixto just left, he wanted to get the early coach from Whiterun. Aranea's bathing out in the river before the rest of the village gets up and starts staring,” said Eola, emerging into view with a tray laden down with bread, meat and honey. It smelt delicious, although Delphine hoped the meat was not from Eola's personal store. Eola surveyed the room, and Delphine became acutely aware of the scattered clothing and various books, map and other things that had ended up swept off the desk in a hurry. Eola's eyes finally came to rest on Cicero, whose various bruises and scratches had only faded a little.

 

“Sweet Namira, what in Oblivion did you two get up to last night?”

 

“It is not what it looks like,” said Cicero weakly. Eola placed the tray on the table, utterly unconvinced and clearly seeing this for the shameful lie it was.

 

“I'm not even gonna dignify that with a response. Hey, Delphine, can I take it as read you two will be wanting shared accommodations in future?”

 

Delphine surveyed the chaos around her and sighed. No sense denying anything and it had to come out some time. “Yes, Eola, Cicero will be sleeping next to me in future. Cicero, I need to get out of this bedroll and get dressed, but in order to do that will require some underwear. Go and find me some. Now.”

 

Cicero shivered, but something in his brain kicked in gear and he was no longer as flustered as he had been. “Listener,” he replied calmly, racing for the stairs with only a passing glare at Eola.

 

Delphine regarded the younger woman carefully, trying to gauge her reaction to it all. Eola gazed back, a hand on her hip and a sly grin on her face.

 

“So you finally jumped him,” Eola said. “It's about time, I thought I was going to have to resort to aphrodisiac laced mead.”

 

That Delphine had not expected.

 

“Been watching the two of us that closely, have you?” she asked, a little wary.

 

“Kinda,” said Eola. “That, and I've spent an extended amount of time on the road with Cicero. He talks about you non-stop, and I mean non-stop. It was getting to the stage when I was actually quite relieved when the wild animals and the thieves and the bandits showed up, it meant he'd stop talking.”

 

“I hate to tell you this, but this new development won't necessarily stop that,” Delphine warned her, reaching for her armour and fastening it on.

 

“Rather lovesick and cheerful than mopey and whiny,” said Eola, heading for the stairs to leave Delphine to get dressed in peace. She looked over her shoulder one last time, smiling gently at Delphine. “By the way, I'm happy for you both. About time you two hooked up, you're cute together.” With that, she was gone, leaving Delphine staring into space mouthing “Cute??”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand done. Hope you enjoyed that, readers, I was rewriting and editing right up until the moment of posting. Wanted to get that one right, it's important. :)
> 
> Next week's update will be A Cornered Rat, involving thieves, Thalmor, a great big battle, a Daedric artefact and Esbern. If you're wondering how on earth Esbern's going to fit in with this lot, well quite, but I think I managed it.


	9. A Cornered Rat I: The Battle of the Flagon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The action moves to Riften as the Blades Brotherhood go in search of Esbern... but have the Thalmor got there first?

Aside from the usual wild beasts and the odd bandit, plus one Bosmer Skooma dealer that Delphine had ordered Cicero to put down for her, the journey to Riften had been uneventful. True, Cicero had been far more bouncy than usual, and had kept darting off to collect flowers, which had ended up being presented to her in impromptu bouquets, while Eola and Aranea had been hanging back walking together arm in arm and constantly whispering and giggling. What about, Delphine had no desire to know, but she suspected Cicero might be it. At least he wasn't fussing over her person at the moment. She'd barely been able to move at breakfast for him checking on her weapons and her armour, and then brushing her hair and tying it back for her, as if she wasn't capable of doing any of that for herself. Still, she had to admit, it was touching and he did know what he was doing with regards to weapons and armour maintenance. It was nice to be pampered after all.

 

Now they'd arrived at Riften's West Gate, the walls looming over them. Big, but Delphine had seen the Imperial City and knew Riften's walls wouldn't hold out a determined siege force for long. Whether the city was any better at holding out four Dark Brotherhood assassins remained to be seen.

 

“I've business in the city. May I and my friends enter?” Delphine asked, approaching the guards.

 

“No,” growled one. “This gate's closed. Use the North Gate.”

 

“Closed... why guard it then?” Delphine asked, suspicious.

 

“Jarl's orders,” came the response. “North Gate, stranger.”

 

Delphine sighed and motioned to Eola and Cicero, who broke away and in unison, pounced on the guards, knives held to their throats. Behind her, Aranea had cast her mage armour and summoned an Atronach.

 

“Now,” said Delphine pleasantly. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You can let me and my associates in to the city so we can meet Brynjolf and conclude our business dealings with him and his friends, or I give the order for these two to kill you both and dump your bodies in the lake. Your choice.”

 

Eola tightened her grip and smacked her lips. “Good eatings on a Nord. Plenty of red meat, nice and tender!” She licked the guard's neck. Meanwhile Cicero was singing something about madness being merry and merriment might.

 

“You're all insane!” the guard currently being half-throttled by a demented, singing jester managed to gasp out. Delphine shrugged.

 

“I'm perfectly sane, I assure you, although I confess those two... aren't.”

 

“You can go in!” the other guard burst out. “Just don't let her eat me!”

 

Smiling, Delphine snapped her fingers and indicated for her siblings in darkness to return to her side. Cicero bounced over immediately, Eola followed at a more leisurely pace.

 

“Thank you,” she said calmly, walking through the newly unlocked gate with her assassins behind her. Both guards looked in need of strong mead and a long lie-down, but Delphine could live with that. They were in without bloodshed or bribery being required, that was the main thing.

 

“Now what?” Aranea asked. “I take it you know the Ratway, Delphine.”

 

Delphine nodded, producing a map to the Ragged Flagon from her pocket. “I do. But we're splitting up. Aranea, you and Eola are taking the visitor's route to the Flagon. Follow the map, mind out for traps, skeevers and the odd lowlife, and keep an eye out for any Thalmor. I don't need to tell you to kill any you come across.”

 

“Oh no,” Eola grinned. Aranea also smiled grimly.

 

“I'm looking forward to it, Listener. What about you and the Dragonborn?”

 

Delphine glanced over to her right. “Cicero's with me. I've got... an alternate route in mind.”

 

“But not a safer one,” said Aranea knowingly. “All right then, Listener. We'll see you there.” She and Eola headed off in the direction of Riften's canals.

 

“Where are we going, my Delphine?” Cicero asked, dancing happily behind her as she led him round the other side of Mistveil Keep.

 

“There's a Shrine of Talos round there that I want to visit before we start,” said Delphine. “After that, Cicero, I'm taking you to meet a few old friends.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“This place reeks,” Eola announced, wrinkling her nose. Aranea couldn't disagree, but what the Breton had been expecting, she wasn't sure.

 

“Of course it reeks, it's a sewer,” said Aranea. “Now be quiet and come on. Quietly now and magic at the ready.”

 

“They'll see us coming a mile off with that,” said Eola, indicating the hovering magelight Aranea had just cast.

 

“What do you expect me to do about mapreading otherwise?” Aranea hissed. “Do you want to be lost down here?” She glanced up ahead and felt her skin crawl. “Besides, those two won't notice us sneaking up. They're quite dead.”

 

Eola immediately raced up and started examining the bodies of two unlucky thieves. She looked up at Aranea, concerned.

 

“I think we may have a problem, Aranea. Bodies still warm... and this wasn't a gang fight or Guild execution. These two died from Destruction magic, and these cuts were from Bound weapons.”

 

Aranea promptly scanned the map and extinguished the magelight. “You think it was the Thalmor,” she said. Eola nodded.

 

“They're here before us, Delphine was right. Man, wish we had Cicero. Or Mama Listener herself, come to that. Lady can stare down a dragon and survive.”

 

“I can believe it,” said Aranea. “But they're not here, it's just us. I know she said to kill them if we're able, but we don't know how many of them there are. I bet I know where they're heading though.”

 

“The Flagon,” said Eola, beginning to see where Aranea's thoughts were leading. “Which is full of Guild members who can at least hold their own, and will hopefully have Cicero and Delphine lying in wait.”

 

“Exactly,” Aranea grinned. “We follow them as stealthily as we're able, ambush any stragglers or guards, follow them to the Flagon and when the inevitable fight breaks out, pounce on them from behind and catch them like rats in a vice.”

 

“You make a habit of putting rats in a vice?” Eola asked. Aranea merely smiled.

 

“Not me, no. But some of the men in the Ienith family were a little overenthusiastic in their desire to rid the world of vermin.”

 

“Awesome!” Eola gasped, her respect for the Dunmer shooting up. “Come on, let's go do some things the Ienith boys would be proud of.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Delphine had spent a good ten minutes or so meditating quietly at the Shrine of Talos. Cicero had stood silently at her back, as a good Keeper should, ensuring no one dared creep up on his darling Listener at prayer. Still, his attention span was notoriously bad to start with, and if she was in a hurry, why weren't they moving??

 

“Delphine?” he finally asked, impatient. “Is Talos talking back to you as well now? Or do you perhaps think we should start moving?”

 

“Yeah, in a second,” Delphine sighed, motioning for him to help her up. “I just felt the need for spiritual guidance.”

 

“Delphine does not need her god to tell her how to kill Thalmor, Cicero hopes,” said Cicero as he pulled her to her feet.

 

“It's not the Elves I'm afraid of,” said Delphine. “It's seeing Esbern again. Do you think he'll understand about the Dark Brotherhood? I'm not sure what to tell him about you, us, any of this. I was hoping Talos might have some answers.”

 

“If you are not sure, then tell him nothing,” said Cicero. “He is not one of us, after all. If he reacts poorly, Cicero can always silence him permanently.”

 

“No!” Delphine snapped at him, causing him to flinch back. “No, you're not to hurt him, Cicero! He's... he's my friend. He was always kind to me, always looked out for me, taught me a lot. Not a single member of this Brotherhood lays one finger on him, understand?”

 

“Cicero understands,” said Cicero softly. “But if Esbern does not... then what will Delphine do? Cicero will not let him hurt or betray the Night Mother.”

 

“Then we'll deal with it,” said Delphine, hoping it would never come to that. “But if it ever becomes necessary to kill him, it's me who'll give the order. No one else, understand?”

 

“Yes, Listener,” said Cicero. Delphine wasn't entirely sure Cicero fully agreed with her, but at least he'd be unlikely to do anything to Esbern short of Esbern directly attacking the Night Mother.

 

Leading him over to the small mausoleum, she pushed the hidden button on the coffin and waited while the secret Guild entrance opened. With Cicero behind her, she walked down the steps and back into the Thieves Guild.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Several thieves were hanging around the kitchen area at the bottom of the steps, all young, no one she recognised. As one, they moved into attacking poses on seeing her, with one slipping away, presumably to find someone in charge.

 

“You're a brave woman, coming down here uninvited,” said a Bosmer with his bow raised. “This isn't a healthy place for strangers to show their faces, if you get my meaning.”

 

“I don't mean you any harm and I don't want to fight you,” said Delphine, raising her hands. “If one of you might like to fetch Brynjolf or Delvin Mallory? They know me, they'll vouch for me.”

 

“They're not the only ones who know you,” a deep voice growled. The thieves parted to make way for their leader, Mercer Frey. “I remember you, Delphine. I also remember you botching one job too many and being asked to leave before you brought the law down on our heads. Now you're back here, waltzing into the Cistern just as you please? I think not. Now you can turn around and go back where you came from, or my boys here can cut you and your friend there to pieces. Up to you.”

 

“That doesn't sound fair,” said Cicero, reaching for his knives. “Does the poor thief not want to fetch reinforcements and even the odds?”

 

Delphine mentally groaned and could have cheerfully throttled Cicero, were it not for the fact she'd likely need him if things went badly. Mercer growled, his hands moving to his blades and things were on the cusp of turning nasty when a familiar voice rang out across the Cistern.

 

“Mercer, wait!” Brynjolf called out. “They're friends. The lad in the hat, Cicero, he saved me from the Thalmor. And Delphine... look, she wouldn't be here if it wasn't important, you know that. Perhaps we should all hear the lass out and put our weapons away before someone does anything hasty, eh? Oh, and may I point out that according to Delvin, the lad butchered four Thalmor on his own before they could even strike back?”

 

There was a general murmur among the thieves, mainly seeming to centre around the fact that Delvin Mallory said a lot of things, most of which were dubious to say the least, but people were standing down, and Mercer was stepping back, still suspicious but at least not actually threatening them.

 

“You always were too soft on her for your own good, Brynjolf,” Mercer sneered. “All right, if you vouch for them and keep an eye on them, they can stay... for now. Anyone gets hurt and you're responsible.” He turned and walked away to his desk, and the other thieves slowly backed off and returned to their business, although most were still watching out of the corner of their eye. All told, it was as good a reception as she'd hoped for. She looked up at Brynjolf, alive and well despite bruising around one eye and a cheek wound that was probably going to leave a fresh scar, and felt a surge of joy and relief.

 

“Bryn. I heard. Thank Talos you're alright.” She stepped forward and embraced him, all awkwardness from their previous encounter forgotten. Brynjolf hesitated, then returned it, patting her gently on the back before releasing her. “How in the world did they get hold of you??” Delphine asked.

 

“Got me as I was leaving the market,” said Brynjolf gruffly. “Bastards bagged and dragged me near the Shrine to Talos. Haven't been back up there since. But I'm all right. Thanks in part to your lad and your lass Eola turning up when they did.” He nodded respectfully at Cicero, who nodded coldly back. While Cicero didn't dislike Brynjolf, he couldn't really get terribly comfortable with the idea of other people touching his Listener.

 

“And you?” Brynjolf asked, lowering his voice. “Is it true about your new outfit, that you've taken up with Skyrim's other underworld organisation?”

 

Delphine shot a freezing cold glance at Cicero, who shuffled awkwardly, and turned back to Brynjolf. “Yes. Is that going to be a problem?”

 

“No, I- no. I honestly didn't see it coming, lass, but it's not a total shock either. You were always a little too free with your blades. You're not here on business, are you? Because Delvin assures me he's got a mutual non-aggression deal going on with your lot – you don't kill us, we don't rob you.”

 

“I'm not here to kill anyone from the Guild,” Delphine hastily reassured him. “I just need safe passage through here to the Flagon. There's an old friend of mine said to be hiding out in the Ratway. The Thalmor are after him and we're trying to reach him before they do. I've got a couple of associates on their way through the other route – we're going to join up with them and go find him. Would you know where he is, by any chance? He's an old man, name of Esbern, but he might not be calling himself that.”

 

“I know the very man,” Brynjolf laughed. “Thalmor wanted to know the same thing, but they didn't ask as nicely as you did. Don't worry, I didn't tell them anything. You shouldn't have any trouble finding him though. He's in your old room.”

 

“He's hiding out there? Well, why not,” said Delphine. “I must have spent a fortune on that door, it must be the safest place in the whole Ratway.”

 

“It is that, lass,” said Brynjolf. “Come on, let's get you and the lad here to the Flagon.” He indicated for her to follow him, and led them to the far door. Then it burst open, and a terrified Nord in a bartender's apron fled into the Cistern.

 

“Help!” he cried. “Somebody help! Thalmor in the Flagon and they're not taking no for an answer!”

 

“Thalmor!” Brynjolf gasped. “Here?” He turned to the Cistern and started bellowing orders at his fellow thieves to grab their weapons and get to the Flagon. Delphine paid him little heed, although she was glad of the back-up. Grabbing Cicero by the arm, she was already running.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Flagon was in chaos when they arrived. Tables overturned, tankards and plates everywhere, food crushed underfoot. A Redguard woman was down, injured and crawling away from the chaos, but a big Nord man, a Nord woman with impossibly pale blonde hair and pale skin, and Delvin Mallory were holding their own against the Thalmor.

 

“You want a war with the Guild?? You got it!” the woman shouted.

 

“You pointy-eared little buggers ain't comin' down 'ere!” Delvin snarled, gutting one and slitting the throat of another. “Not after what you did to Bryn!”

 

“I promise you, thief, what we did to your comrade will look like a gentle reproof compared to what we will do to you!” the Thalmor wizard leading them warned. Another bolt of lightning from his fingers and the woman staggered back. The big Nord was also dealing with two Elven warriors at once, and it wasn't looking good for the Thieves. They were out-numbered and there were two wizards in the Thalmor party.

 

“Distract as many of the warriors as you can,” Delphine murmured to Cicero. “I'll get to Delvin and then the two of us can get those wizards. They'll regret taking on two well-armed, well-trained Bretons.”

 

Cicero nodded and danced out into the Flagon. “Elfies cast lightning and Elfies cast fire; when the jester comes calling, the Elfies expire!” Cicero chanted.

 

“He's the one from the Embassy break-in!” one of the wizards roared. “Get him!” The warriors were all too keen to oblige, descending en masse towards Cicero. The jester just laughed, his blades at the ready, and Elven blood was soon everywhere as he set to work. Delphine meanwhile cut through a couple more Thalmor soldiers and made her way to Delvin, dodging lightning blasts as she did so.

 

“Delphine,” Delvin growled as he tangled with a Thalmor soldier. “Good to see you grace us with your most lovely presence again. Apologies that you ain't seeing the Flagon at its best – we have a few unruly visitors.”

 

“Don't worry,” said Delphine, finishing off the soldier she'd been dealing with and neatly slicing the head off Delvin's opponent. “It's not the first bar fight I've had to break up. Now, how about you and I deal with those two robed troublemakers? Key to dealing with any big fight is to get the ringleaders – the rest'll lose heart after that.”

 

“That's if our little Vex and your little jester have left any alive,” Delvin chuckled. Vex had seemingly recovered, and was aiding Cicero in slaughtering gold-armoured Thalmor. Brynjolf had also arrived by now with a few thieves at his back, and all in all, things were looking up. However, the two mages were lobbing fire and lightning into the melee, and thieves were falling back at an alarming speed. Then a fireball caught Cicero unawares and he dropped to the floor, rolling to put the flames out and slicing a few ankles on the way down.

 

“Oh no, not him, damn you!” Delphine shouted, leaping straight at the wizard who'd cast it. He turned to cast lightning at her, but Delphine in her fury barely noticed the pain. The wizard tried to run, but Delphine vaulted over a table and plunged her blade into him. The wizard was injured... but apparently still willing to fight as dual jets of flame came flying Delphine's way. She fell back, beating the fire out, which gave the wizard enough time to stagger to his feet, and damn the man if he wasn't casting healing magic on himself. This was looking awkward.

 

Then a firebolt came flying across the water, accompanied by lightning. Both hit the wizard at the same time, and he slumped dead to the floor. Delphine looked up to see Aranea and Eola racing around the Flagon, Atronachs in tow and magic blazing. One fire blast from Eola hit the other wizard and Delvin took advantage, gutting the Elf before a stab to the throat put him out of his misery.

 

With the combined might of Guild and Brotherhood massed against them, it was only a matter of time before the Thalmor succumbed, and soon there were no Altmer left standing. Aranea began tending to the injured, while Brynjolf was ordering various thieves to start dumping bodies. Delphine scanned the area, looking for Cicero. She couldn't see him. She couldn't hear him either.

 

“Cicero?” she called. “Cicero??” _Please don't be dead, please, how am I going to explain to Esbern that I had a Dragonborn but got him killed??_

 

“He can't have gone far,” said Delvin, surveying the scene. “Have a word with Brynjolf, he seems to be on corpse disposal. Er, not that your lad's one of those,” he hastily added, seeing Delphine's stricken face, “but Bryn can tell you if anyone's seen him.”

 

“Right,” Delphine whispered, trying not to panic. Cicero wasn't dead, couldn't be dead, not her Cicero, not the damn Dragonborn, not like this. Surely? She scanned the area she'd last seen him in, and then she saw it. No body, but lying discarded next to a pool of blood, Cicero's beloved hat and his prized ebony dagger, along with the Orcish sword she'd taken off a passing bandit and given to him. Delphine sank to her knees, time seeming to stop as she reached for the hat and held it, staring at it as if its owner would materialise any time soon.

 

“Delphine,” she heard Brynjolf say. “I think you need to have a word with your lass Eola, I know she's got, er, strange habits about dead bodies, but honestly, I think it's turning into an addiction. She was demanding I get one for her, shaking and freaking out like she was on a Skooma comedown or something. Gave her free rein with the Thalmor, think she was dragging one behind the bar last I saw her...” His eyes fell on the hat in her hand. “Oh shit, lass, I'm so sorry, I had no idea.”

 

“Where is he?” Delphine whispered. “Where is he? What did you lot do with the body???”

 

“Easy, lass,” said Brynjolf gently. “We're dumping the Elves, but our lot are going to get a decent burial. Vipir and Niruin are laying 'em out over there.” Sure enough, about three thieves were laid out on blankets. Delphine gathered Cicero's weapons up, and let Brynjolf guide her to the makeshift mortuary. Three anonymous thieves in their Guild armour... but Cicero wasn't among them.

 

“He's not here,” said Delphine, barely daring to feel relieved just yet, but the dead feeling inside was starting to abate. “He's not here, which means he may have just been injured and crawled off somewhere...” Something Brynjolf had said earlier began to register. “Wait, you said Eola was freaking out about needing a corpse.”

 

“Yeah, that's right. Delphine, trust me, if she's addicted to cannibalism, you want to do something about that, last thing you need's an addict in your ranks.”

 

“She's not an addict,” said Delphine. “And she's always got stores – we seem to attract bodies like kids attract dirt.” Realisation dawned. “Sithis, the body, it's not for her!” Her heart racing, she dashed over to the bar. Sure enough, Eola was crouching over two prone forms, one stripped and quite dead Altmer... and one very much alive Cicero.

 

“Cicero, please, you need to eat,” Eola begged him. “Namira's blessing, put the ring on, eat, she'll heal you!”

 

“No,” Cicero rasped. He was on his side, presumably the side that the fireball hadn't hit. The side that had... his armour was torn and scorched, and the flesh beneath it... Delphine fought the urge to be sick. The whole side of his face was charred by mage fire and his right hand looked more like a claw. He'd not got her inborn resistance to magic and had taken the full brunt of the Thalmor's wrath.

 

“End it... Eola,” he gasped. “Can't live... like this... can't let... Delphine see this...”

 

“She already has,” Delphine whispered, tears in her eyes. She saw Cicero flinch and immediately gasp in pain as damaged muscles tried to respond.

 

“Don't look... at me,” Cicero wheezed. “Let me go. Please. Eola... please look after her.”

 

Eola shook her head, tears freely running down her own face. “You're not going anywhere, little brother! Come on, eat. Eat, damn you!” She dragged the Altmer's arm over, carving a slice off and holding it out to him. Cicero stubbornly closed his mouth and looked away.

 

“Eola,” said Delphine. “What are you trying to make him do? How will getting him to eat the dead help?” Horrific as the whole situation was, she wasn't sure what this would achieve.

 

“Namira's Ring,” said Eola. “He has Namira's Ring, he's her Champion. Wearing that Ring gives him more stamina in any fight, but if he's injured, he can eat the dead while wearing it and it'll heal him. Except the stupid, stubborn, annoying, irritating little pain in the backside won't!” She looked like she was about to cry again.

 

Delphine closed her eyes. How it had come to this, she'd never know, but she wasn't about to lose her Dragonborn now.

 

“Cicero Dragonborn,” she said firmly, folding her arms and drawing on all the authority she could muster. “I am your Listener and I am only telling you this once. _Do as your sister damn well tells you._ ”

 

That voice could have frozen the fires of Oblivion. It certainly had the desired effect on Cicero.

 

“Listener,” he whispered and obligingly opened his mouth. Eola laughed in relief and fed him. Cicero grimaced as he chewed but swallowed it in the end and let Eola feed him again. Delphine watched, stunned, as the Ring on his finger started to glow softly, and burnt flesh healed before her eyes. Cicero's face and hand repaired themselves as she watched, and it wasn't long before Cicero had reached for the body and was chewing on it of his own accord. At last, he looked himself again. Shoving the remains of the corpse away, he collapsed on to the floor.

 

Delphine knelt next to him, stroking his face, his lovely beautiful unburned face, heedless of the tears tracking down her own cheeks. Eola, convinced that all was now well and that Delphine could handle it from here, went off to see how Aranea was doing.

 

“How are you feeling?” she whispered.

 

“Like I'm about to be sick,” came the response. “But no longer in pain. Cicero... Cicero hates doing that, Listener. Cicero is a fool, he knows, and a killer, he knows that too. He may even be a monster. But even he has limits, and he cannot bear to see revulsion in his Listener's eyes.”

 

Delphine hauled him upright and held him as he settled into her arms.

 

“I'm just glad to see you healthy again. How you do it... well, I'm not going to say I'm entirely easy with it, but it did the job. Gods, Cicero, when I couldn't find you earlier... I thought you'd died. I thought... thought I'd lost you.” She tightened her grip, unwilling to say any more before she actually did break down in the middle of the Flagon with the entire Guild watching her.

 

“Cicero is sorry,” she heard him whisper. “Cicero is sorry for upsetting his sweet Listener.”

 

“You'd better be,” she said, glaring at him. “I hear you asking Eola or anyone else to mercy-kill you again, there'll be trouble, understand? You're mine, Dragonborn. You live or die on my orders, got that?”

 

“Yes, yes Listener,” Cicero gasped breathlessly. “Cicero is at his sweet Listener's disposal.” He was gazing up at her, misty-eyed. “Cicero will do anything his Listener requires of him. Anything at all, to make her happy.”

 

“Good,” said Delphine. “No one gets to send you to the Void but me. _No one_.”

 

Cicero responded by closing his eyes, a blissful little smile on his face. “My Listener,” he breathed. “You say the most lovely things to your sweet Cicero.” His eyes flickered open, his perfect, deep brown eyes and Delphine couldn't help herself. Before she knew it, she was kissing him, pulling him to her, his hair falling over her fingers and her hands gripping him tightly. His arms slipped around her as he held on, responding to the kiss and moaning as his mouth opened beneath hers. Delphine could have stayed like this for hours... or at least she could until Delvin Mallory coughed politely behind her.

 

“Er... excuse me, Delphine love, were you, er, planning on staying here? Coz we've got a pub to set to rights and some brothers to lay to rest, and your other two are starting to get a little impatient. 'Specially young Eola, she keeps eyeing up the dead and saying she's hungry. Course, if you two did want a little time to yourselves back 'ere, I ain't complaining.” Delvin leered at them both, and Delphine repressed the urge to hit him.

 

“Does my dearest Listener wish me to do something about the disgusting thief?” Cicero enquired sweetly. “Cicero would not kill him, no, but surely he does not need all his body parts?”

 

Delvin raised his hands, backing off as Cicero got to his feet, helping Delphine up as he did so.

 

“Steady on, Cicero, no need to do anything rash. I'll, er, leave you and your good lady to it. Just, um, you might want to find some new armour. That set's showing off rather more than is healthy. Just saying.”

 

Cicero looked down at the remains of his leather armour and promptly shrieked to see that the right-hand side of it consisted mostly of gaping holes, exposing half his chest, backside and right leg for the world to see.

 

“Listener! I am practically naked. Naked! What is a fool to do, he cannot walk around like this! And his jester outfit is still unwearable as it is missing the buttons. Listener, please help me, if Eola sees me like this, Cicero will never hear the end of it.”

 

Delphine just about managed to tear her eyes away from Cicero's triceps, although it was an effort.

 

“Why don't you take some armour off one of the Thalmor?” she asked. “Failing that, I'll ask Brynjolf if he can sell us a set of Guild armour. It's good stuff, very durable.”

 

Cicero reached for the Elven armour that Eola had discarded and, ducking behind the bar, changed swiftly into it... but not swiftly enough to stop Delphine getting a good look at the Dragonborn naked. He might be a little on the short side compared to most Nord men, but not by much, and he was certainly well-muscled enough for any man. Not doing too badly size-wise elsewhere either. Then the armour was on and the moment was gone. Cicero adjusted the straps to make up for his shorter height but broader shoulders, but other than that, it seemed to fit well enough.

 

“It will do,” said Cicero grudgingly. The boots didn't fit, but fortunately his leather ones were still wearable, and Cicero's jester gloves were soon substituted for the remains of his leather bracers. Delphine handed back his hat and weapons, and with them added, Cicero was now looking himself again.

 

“Come on,” said Delphine, taking his arm. “Let's go find your sisters.”


	10. A Cornered Rat II: Finding Esbern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esbern's been found, but with rescuers like these, is he any safer? And how long can Delphine keep her two allegiances separate? Meanwhile, down in Falkreath, another danger entirely is stirring...

With the Thalmor out of the way, the rest of the trip was proving to be a bit easier. Sure, there were skeevers, traps, the occasional thug or vagrant operating out of the Guild's purview and not pleased to see visitors, but these proved no trouble at all to the four of them. Delphine was taking the lead, with Cicero at her side – since the battle, he seemed to have risen to new heights of clingy and if Delphine was honest, she didn't really want to let him out of her sight. Aranea was behind them both, and Eola was bringing up the rear, keeping an eye out for anyone trying to sneak up from behind. A fortunate state of affairs, as it turned out. Aranea tapped Delphine on the shoulder, beckoning her back for an urgent conversation.

“Eola thinks we're being followed,” Aranea murmured softly. “She keeps hearing footsteps, that stop when we do.”

Delphine felt a shiver run down her spine. Not good news. Not good news at all. “How many?”

“Just one, she thinks.”

Well, that was something. “All right. Aranea, you're with me – the two of us are going to proceed slowly and carefully ahead. Cicero, drop back and join Eola, the two of you need to lie in wait for our little stalker. If it's Thalmor or some gutter rat, just kill them. If it's someone from the Guild, keep them alive, I'll want to interrogate them.”

“And what if this is an elaborate trap and Thalmor are lying in wait for unprotected Listener?” Cicero asked, his suspicions roused.

“Do you doubt my competence, Keeper?” Aranea asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no,” said Cicero. “Skilled Aranea is a match for most, he knows that. It's just he worries for his Listener when she is not with him.”

Delphine had to smile at that. “That's very sweet of you, Cicero. But we're in the field and that means we can't get sentimental. So. Your orders are to go back and assist Eola with bringing in whoever's tailing us. Of course, if you hear fighting up ahead, you have permission to leave her to deal with the straggler and assist us. Is that clear?”

“My Listener,” Cicero said, with a little bow of the head. With that, he'd dropped back to find Eola, leaving Delphine and Aranea to start moving on. They'd not gone far when they heard a feminine yelp behind them, much scuffling, something that sounded like an Illusion spell and Cicero singing “and if the thief on Listener sneaks, why then indeed I'll make her shriek!”

“They found the target then,” said Aranea, casting her armour and turning back to see exactly what the others had caught.

“And a Guild Thief too from the sound of it,” said Delphine. “Come on, let's see what exactly Mercer thinks he's playing at.” They turned the corner to find Eola and Cicero crouched in an alcove they'd just passed. Eola had her magic at the ready, blocking the way they'd come, while Cicero had their stalker in a choke-hold, knife at her throat.

“What have you got for me?” Delphine asked, eyeing their captive carefully. She recognised the thief as one of those who had been present when she'd first entered the Guild, a young-ish woman, probably a little under thirty if Delphine was any guess, with dark hair, dark eyes, typical Nord pale skin and a grey variant of the Guild armour. That armour had probably saved her life if the thief did but know it.

“We found this little sneak-thief following behind,” Cicero hissed. “Tracking and stalking and hunting us, yes! But we beat the little thief at her own game, we did, and now she's the one whose caught.”

“She's been following us since we left the Flagon,” said Eola. “I wasn't sure if I was imagining things at first, but then she got just too obvious to ignore.”

“Obvious??” the thief hissed. “Of course I was obvious, you think I want a fight with the Brotherhood? I don't mean you any harm! If I did, you'd never have heard me coming.” That last was said with a certain sense of professional pride.

“If you had an iota of sense, you wouldn't have crept up on the Brotherhood at all,” said Delphine, arms folded. “You know your Guild armour's the only thing keeping you alive at the moment, right? Anyone else down here, they'd already be dead. So. Mercer send you?”

“No!” the thief said. “No one from the Guild knows I'm here...” She went quiet as it occurred to her that probably hadn't been the smartest thing to say.

“So, the Guild that's pretty much your only protection has no idea you're down here, and now you're a Dark Brotherhood prisoner, and we know your Guild's not going to notice if you vanish. Wow, you really are not that bright.” Delphine crouched opposite her. “We are on secret and dangerous work, and we are prepared to kill to keep it secret. Every one of us here has killed before, and Cicero there gets off on it. My orders to him not to kill one of the Guild are the only thing stopping him opening an artery, and while I don't want a war with the Guild, I'm quite prepared to have him kill one lone thief who's stepping on our toes. Especially here where there are no witnesses, plenty of places to dump a body, and any number of things that might have killed an unwary thief in the wrong place at the wrong time. So, thief, you are going to tell me exactly who sent you, why you're following us, and what on Nirn you hoped to achieve, and you'd better hope I like those answers. So talk, and start with your name.”

“Sapphire,” the thief gasped. “I'm called Sapphire. No one sent me, I promise. I don't mean you any harm, I swear it. I – I used to be in the Brotherhood before, used to work for Astrid. But we had a little difference of opinion and I ended up leaving to join the Guild instead. But I miss the fight, miss the killing. Then the other day, Brynjolf found out about this scam I was running on one of the stable-workers. I'd lent him money to get goods shipped to Riften, robbed the shipment, and then demanded he pay me back anyway. I might have threatened him if his repayment wasn't forthcoming. Course, then Brynjolf finds out and flips out on me about the difference between clients and marks, and how murder is bad for business, and that no one is going to borrow from us if they think we're going to screw them over or slit their throats. And honestly, I've just had enough of being told what to do. Then you guys show up and I overhear that you're Brotherhood. Then I heard him, Cicero, psychopathic knife guy or whatever his name is, call you Listener. Is it – is it true? That there's a Listener again and you're it? Because that means the Night Mother is back and that means that bitch Astrid's not the boss any more. I've never been one for gods and magic and dark rituals or anything, but hey, if it means I can come back to the Family and not take orders from her any more, I'm all for it. So, er, that's why I was following you. I wanted to see if you were recruiting...” Sapphire looked hopefully up at Delphine, or as hopefully as one could look when Cicero was holding a knife to one's throat. Delphine appraised her carefully. An interesting story, and Sithis knew they could do with more people. At this rate, she'd have enough people behind her to make the inevitable future confrontation with this Astrid go rather easier. And someone with proven thieving skills could prove invaluable. However, Sapphire's attitude could be a dealbreaker, and Delphine wasn't sure she trusted the young thief yet. 

“You are aware of course that being a part of my organisation also involves a certain adherence to rules,” said Delphine. “We are the Dark Brotherhood, not some ill-disciplined bandit rabble. Rule number one is that while we are all brothers and sisters in darkness here, we ultimately answer to the Night Mother, and she passes her orders on to me. Which means you will obey any order I give you, no arguing, no complaining, no talking back. Is that clear?”

Sapphire nodded. “Yes, Listener,” she whispered.

“Good,” said Delphine. She wasn't entirely convinced of Sapphire's reliability just yet, but it was a start. “I need also hardly add that stealing from or scamming your fellow Brotherhood members is also a very bad idea, and obviously we do not prey on our fellow Brotherhood members either. We are also an organisation with secrets, especially given that our very existence is outlawed, most of our activities are illegal, and we've all got enemies. Should anyone outside the Brotherhood find out any of these secrets, such as where our Sanctuaries are, who our members are, our current contracts and projects, that would not go well for us. It would go particularly badly for whoever betrayed us. This includes anyone from the Guild – I consider them friends and occasionally allies, but there is no need for any of them to know where we work out of or what our current ventures involve, and no thief with good intentions will ever ask you to tell them. Again, are we clear on this?”

“We are,” said Sapphire. She met Delphine's eyes, a new knowledge dawning. “You're following the Tenets again, aren't you?”

“Why not?” Delphine asked with a shrug. “They're all fairly reasonable to me. Chain of command, loyalty, brothers and sisters being able to trust each other and watch each other's backs – I'm not sure how the Brotherhood's been functioning all these years without them.”

“Oh, Astrid was all about the chain of command,” said Sapphire knowingly. “Not so much about the loyalty or trust though. She thought I was eyeing up her husband, so out I went.”

“Were you?” Delphine asked. Sapphire shook her head.

“No! Never was one for guys anyway, then I ended up imprisoned in some bandit camp and... well, I murdered the lot of them and escaped, and never regretted it. No, it was actually Astrid I was secretly checking out. Don't think she ever twigged though. There's irony for you.”

Cicero's grip on her tightened. “Get no ideas here either. The Listener is mine,” he hissed.

“Got it!” Sapphire squeaked. “She's a little old for me anyway. No offence,” she added hastily.

“None taken,” said Delphine. She motioned at Cicero to let her go. “Cicero. Put the knife away and come to me. There's a good Keeper.”

Cicero was still glaring at Sapphire, but did as he was told, sheathing his dagger and positioning himself protectively at Delphine's shoulder.

“So... am I in?” Sapphire asked hopefully. Delphine nodded.

“You are. Provisionally anyway. Don't expect to get told all the Brotherhood's secrets right away, it'll be a while before I make this permanent. But you're in. Now, our current mission is to track down an old colleague of mine who's hiding out in the Ratway. The Thalmor are after him, it's our job to get there before they do. The battle in the Flagon will have helped, but I can't rule out a few more of them getting down here. So, we move and we move quickly and quietly. Sapphire, you're behind me, Cicero, you are behind Sapphire. Aranea and Eola, bring up the rear, mop up any more stragglers. Any questions?”

There were none. Sapphire shot a few nervous glances at Cicero, wondering what exactly she'd let herself for. The jester merely smiled viciously at her. 

“After you, sister,” he growled. Sapphire got the message. Delphine might trust her enough to present her back to the new recruit... but not enough to risk Sapphire being able to strike and escape. At the same time, it was more than she'd hoped for, and one thing was becoming clear – Delphine was not Astrid. Astrid, who had been all sweetness and light and all 'no rules, just respect your family', right up until it had become abundantly clear there were rules, it's just Astrid rarely bothered to share them but still punished you when you transgressed. Delphine on the other hand had been extremely clear about where the boundaries lay, and even the more informal one of 'Cicero and Delphine are clearly a couple – interfere at your own risk' had been spelt out fairly effectively. Of course, that still left the question of where Astrid's group fitted in to the whole setup. Something to ask later, maybe. But for now, things seemed fairly clear-cut and more to the point, they had a job to do. Sapphire fingered her blade hilts. This could be interesting...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Finally, they made it to a particularly dingy cellar area, with a number of cells leading off a balcony. In the distance, a woman was manically listing a number of random objects, and a man seemed to be trying to beckon someone or something to him. Next to either, Cicero looked like a model of reason and sanity.

“What the hell is this place?” Eola murmured, looking about her.

“Place I called home for a year,” said Delphine, anything but nostalgic. “I swear, if I hadn't been in mourning, I don't know if I'd have survived without losing my mind. As it is, I didn't care, I just wanted to hide. Holed up here, paid the Guild to bring me food, but didn't speak to anyone. Don't even know if I'd have left if one of the food couriers hadn't been the annoying type of extrovert that insisted on sitting outside and carrying on one-sided conversations by himself. Still, that's Brynjolf for you, never knew when to keep his mouth shut.”

“Don't I know it,” Sapphire muttered. To her surprise, Cicero actually giggled quietly at that. She glanced up to see the jester watching, sly grin in place.

“Something amusing, jester?” she snapped at him. Cicero merely raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no. Cicero just did not think he and thieving Sapphire would find common ground so quickly.”

That made two of them. Sapphire felt her fear of the little psychopath abate somewhat, but she had no intention of trusting him just yet.

“You had a knife to my throat not half an hour ago,” Sapphire reminded him. Cicero just shrugged.

“Cicero has held his knife to a great many throats over the years. It is very rarely personal. Sapphire can count herself among the lucky ones – she is still alive.”

There wasn't really a lot Sapphire could say to that. On her other side, Aranea patted her shoulder.

“Don't let him get to you, Sapphire. He tried to stab me when we first met too. It's almost like an initiation rite.”

“Did I pass?” Sapphire asked, then berated herself for asking such a stupid question.

“Of course,” said Aranea. “You're still breathing.” 

Delphine cleared her throat and called for attention.

“All right. This is it, people. Esbern's room is up there. As he's a paranoid recluse who could teach me a few things on that score, I will go up with Cicero. More of us than that is likely to put him on the defensive and possibly freak him out.”

“Whereas Cicero won't have that effect at all,” said Eola, rolling her eyes. Delphine glared at her and she quickly fell silent.

“As I was saying,” said Delphine tersely. “Cicero and I will go up to find Esbern. The three of you will remain down here and keep watch in case of Thalmor or any other troublemakers. I don't think the other residents will give you any trouble, but best not to disturb them. Stay alert, I don't think we'll be too long, but there'll be things to discuss, also Esbern will need to pack. That's assuming the stubborn old coot will actually leave. OK, positions everyone. Cicero, you're with me.”

“Coming, Listener!” Cicero cooed, skipping over to Delphine's side as she led him upstairs. Delphine took him by the arm as they reached the balcony.

“Listen, Cicero, you have to be a little more careful about when you address me as Listener,” said Delphine. Cicero tilted his head.

“Why, my Listener? Does Delphine not like her rightful title?”

“It's not that,” said Delphine, shaking her head. “It's... well, it's a dead giveaway to anyone who knows anything about the Brotherhood just who we are. You calling me that has given us away to Brynjolf, Delvin Mallory, quite possibly other Guild members, and now Sapphire. While the Guild are unlikely to give us away, others might do, and I don't want to take any unnecessary risks. Can't you call me something else? Or just use my name?”

Cicero looked at her, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. For all he liked to come across as nothing but a simple fool, he'd been a shrewd and calculating man once, and the pieces of a once sharp mind had not blunted as much as Cicero liked to claim.

“You do not wish Esbern to know you are in the Brotherhood now,” he said. Delphine gritted her teeth, wishing he wasn't quite so perceptive.

“Not if I can avoid it, no. He's not one of us, Cicero! He's a Blade through and through. And... I don't want him to be disappointed in me.” Damn it, she hadn't intended that to sound so plaintive. She was leader of the Dark Brotherhood now, she shouldn't be feeling like such a child! Or like a young girl bringing a prospective husband home to meet her parents. Which wasn't so far from the truth, if she thought about it.

Cicero's face softened and a second later, his arms were around her and he was rubbing her back. 

“If Esbern is disappointed in you, the problem is with him. Cicero has nothing but pride for his dear, sweet Lis- Mistress, see, Cicero can change his ways! If Delphine does not wish him to know just yet, Cicero will keep the secret, but Delphine cannot hide this forever, not if Esbern is staying. Which he will be, Cicero imagines, as he cannot see his Delphine abandoning her friend to the nasty Thalmor, hmm?”

“No,” Delphine sighed. “He can't stay here, the location's hopelessly compromised, and I don't know how he'll adjust to living in a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. But there's no hope for it – we need his dragon knowledge and I'm not abandoning him now. The Thalmor will come back for him eventually. Come on.” She broke the embrace and offered Cicero her arm. “Let's go meet Esbern.”

~~~~~~~~~~ 

The door was impressive, no doubt about it. Solid steel with a slot in it, and an intimidating lock. Delphine knew from personal experience that on the other side was an array of chains, bolts, and a solid steel door bar. Nothing short of an actual dragon was getting through that door any time soon.

Steeling herself, she knocked on the door. The panel slid back.

“Who is it? What do you want?” the familiar voice she remembered snapped out. Delphine couldn't help it, a broad smile crossing her face and all her earlier fears evaporating.

“Esbern,” she laughed. “Esbern, old man, it's me. Delphine. Open the door, let me in. I brought someone you need to meet. A friend.”

“A friend?” Esbern sounded disbelieving. “The Delphine I knew never had time for that sort of thing.” Narrowed eyes peered out at them, and widened as they fell on Delphine.

“Well, good gods. It is you! You don't look a day older, my dear. And this...” He looked at Cicero, who smiled his most charming smile in return. The eyes blinked, before flicking back to Delphine. “Delphine, my dear, who is your, er, friend? Are you sure he's entirely trustworthy? Not a Thalmor agent?”

“His name is Cicero,” said Delphine, smiling fondly at Cicero. “And no he's not a Thalmor agent. He's killed too many of them for that. You can trust him, he won't give you away.”

Cicero swept a bow, remembering his manners. “Humble Cicero is at venerable Esbern's service. Any friend of his dear Delphine is a friend of Cicero's. If Esbern wishes anyone murdered, slain, decapitated, garrotted, slaughtered, massacred or stabbed, he has merely to utter their name in Cicero's hearing and Cicero will see the matter dealt with.”

Delphine felt her heart sink, shooting Cicero a venomous glance that promised an extended discussion later. To her surprise, Esbern uttered a bark of laughter.

“The only one I'd actually want to see dead may prove to be a bit of challenge for you, dear boy. But no matter, no matter.” The panel closed and behind the door, the sound of bolts being drawn back echoed out into the Ratway. 

“Do you think he likes poor Cicero?” Cicero whispered. He was rewarded by a sharp slap to his rump, causing him to squeal.

“Stop offering your services as a murderer!” Delphine hissed. “He's going to think you're some sort of-” insane psychopath, she almost said but given that Cicero was definitely the first and had more than a few traits associated with the second, it probably would have had no effect. “Ill-mannered child,” she said, hoping this at least would get the point across.

Cicero winced at this. “Cicero is sorry,” he said unhappily. “Cicero will be quiet and let Delphine do the talking, yes. Esbern is her friend after all, she will know what to say.”

“All right,” said Delphine, putting an arm around his waist. “Just remember he's not Dark Brotherhood or a client of ours, he has priorities other than wanting people killed.”

Cicero looked a bit confused at this concept, but he nodded in acquiescence. It was probably the best Delphine could hope for. Finally the last lock was drawn back and the door swung open. Behind it was an old man in a filthy white tunic and leggings, old but still standing straight and eyes wrinkled in a smile. 

“Come in, come in,” he said, motioning them forwards. He glanced down into the courtyard and noticed Eola crouching in a corner and Aranea on the stairs. Sapphire was presumably guarding the entrance, hidden from sight. “Delphine, who are those young women?” he asked frostily. 

“They're with me,” said Delphine. “I expected trouble so rounded up nearly all my people to come get you.”

“All of them? Just for me? Is that wise? And people – Delphine, are you reforming the Blades?” Esbern's eyes lit up at the thought. Delphine felt her heart stop.

“Kind of,” she said hastily. “Why don't we come inside and talk?”

“Yes, yes,” said Esbern, motioning for them to come in and securing the door behind them. “Delphine, you're still alive, I can hardly believe it.”

“So are you, I thought they'd got you years ago!” Delphine hugged Esbern, feeling the weight of years slide off her. Not the last Blade any more! Of course, given her new allegiances, that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

“Not yet, my dear,” said Esbern gently. “Not yet. So. You didn't come all this way with your entire cadre just to reminisce with an old man. How did you find me and what brings you here?” He let Delphine go and settled into a chair, indicating for them to sit down. Delphine settled on the bed, Cicero coming to join her. Without even thinking, Delphine put her arm around him, letting him rest his head on her shoulder. Esbern noticed and smiled.

“Well, that's one mystery cleared up. I'm very happy for you, dear. Even if he is a little... unusual, it's nice to see love blossom. It's a pity you won't have long to enjoy it, but at least you will be able to have a measure of happiness before the end.”

“Before the – what are you talking about, Esbern?” Delphine asked, confused. “The end of what?”

“Why, the end of the world, of course! Don't tell me you hadn't realised.” Esbern looked at them both, taking in the looks of polite bafflement on Cicero's part and incomprehension on Delphine's.

“Delphine,” said Cicero, sounding only a little nervous, “was he always like this? Cicero would hate to think that our best lead on dragons had lost his mind to the ravages of old age. Such a shame to see a fine mind wasted.” He said this last without even a hint of irony.

“Oh he was always a little crazy,” Delphine reassured him. “But this is admittedly a little far out even for him. Esbern, come on, end times? Really? Yeah, I know we have dragons coming back, but the end of the world? Are you sure about that?”

“Quite sure,” said Esbern sternly. “I have studied the matter in depth, young lady, which I would imagine is more than you have done. All the sources agree, all the books are quite clear on the matter. Alduin the World-Eater has returned, he is raising his kin to fight, war will come and the world will end in fire. The end.”

“The end?” Cicero sat up, shocked. “But... but the world can't end yet! We have work to do! People to kill! Si- no, the gods can't want this.” Cicero corrected himself in time. “Delphine, surely, would you not have heard if the world was going to end?”

“Not necessarily,” said Delphine. “But I have to agree with Cicero, Esbern. Don't you think this is all a bit unlikely? And who is Alduin anyway?”

Esbern sighed, throwing up his hands. “Who is Alduin, she asks. Who is – Delphine, if you had paid more attention in class and spent more time in the library, and a little less time learning how to pulverise anything that moved, you would know who Alduin was. Alduin is the first of the dragons, the eldest son of Akatosh, greatest of all of them, like a demi-god in his own right. Immortal, unstoppable, and his destiny is to arrive at the end of time and eat the world. He is here, now, in our time, and that time will be the last.”

“That black dragon we saw at Kynesgrove,” said Delphine, lessons from over thirty years ago returning to her. “That was Alduin?”

“You see, you know! You know, but you refuse to understand!” Esbern cried. “Everyone refused to understand, you know. Called me mad when I tried to warn them, ignored me when I said we were running out of time. Said the war was more important. Hmph. Well, there's still a war on, and now the dragons are truly back, time has run out, the Blades are gone and the gods have forsaken us. So who's mad now, hmm? Truly, were it not for the gravity of the situation, I would take great pleasure in saying I told you so.”

“And they call me crazy,” Cicero murmured in Delphine's ear. Delphine, much as she wanted to disagree with the sentiment, was having a hard time doing so. That familiar and not remotely missed feeling of being the sanest person in the room, a feeling that had started making its presence felt the moment she'd walked out of Dragonsreach for the first time with Cicero and not gone away until Aranea had joined the team, was making its presence felt once more.

“There must be something we can do,” said Delphine. “I refuse to believe that our fate is just to roll over and let the end happen.”

Esbern smiled sadly. “That's the Delphine I remember. You always were a force to be reckoned with. Alas, Alduin is more than a match for you. More than a match for all of us. Only a Dragonborn could do it. And there's been no Dragonborn for centuries. The gods have abandoned us, Delphine. There's nothing we can do now. Just take your Cicero to a secluded, romantic spot and enjoy the final days in happiness. It is all I can offer you. I can only hope your particular ends are swift and painless.”

Delphine opened her mouth to speak, but Cicero beat her to it, leaping to his feet.

“But Cicero is Dragonborn!” he cried. “The Greybeards have said so, Delphine has said so, everyone has said so! He can Shout, he can absorb dragon souls when they die. Cicero does not know how or why it has come about... but he is Dragonborn. And if wise Esbern wants Alduin dealt with, why then humble Cicero shall take the contract.”

Esbern's eyes widened and he got up, clapping a stunned Cicero on the shoulders.

“I can hardly believe it – Dragonborn! You're really Dragonborn? Delphine, is it true?”

Delphine nodded, smiling despite herself. “That he is, Esbern.”

“That's... unbelievable! Unbelievable! Dear boy, you don't know what this means! The gods haven't abandoned us! There is a way! The world might just survive!” Cicero found himself drawn into a bear hug, before Esbern abruptly released him and pulled Delphine to her feet, shaking her hand firmly.

“My dear girl, you're a marvel. However did you find him – no, don't tell me. Plenty of time to tell me later. This changes everything, of course. Now, clearly we must leave and leave quickly. Let me gather a few things – let me see now...” He began gathering books from among the many piled all over the room. “Ah yes... this one... and certainly that one... that too... not that one... now where is my annotated Anuad?”

“How long's this going to take exactly?” Delphine sighed, itching to be gone before Thalmor reinforcements arrived. “Gotta warn you, Esbern – Cicero's got a bit of a short attention span.”

Esbern glanced up at Cicero, who was now sitting cross-legged on a chair, good as gold, quietly reading the Book of Daedra.

“Really,” said Esbern sceptically. “Well, I do agree that one of you resembles an impatient child, but it's not the Dragonborn.” He returned to his packing, and Delphine couldn't help but glare at Cicero.

“Now you decide to behave for once?” she muttered. Cicero looked up, face utterly guileless.

“Does Delphine not wish her Cicero to behave in public?” he asked innocently.

“No- yes, never mind,” Delphine sighed. Of all the times for Cicero to suddenly develop focus. Now he was even passing books and scrolls to Esbern as he asked for them, all the while being helpful, meek and biddable like she'd never seen him. This could not possibly last.

Finally Esbern was finished. Cicero sprang to his feet and opened the door for Esbern and Delphine, bowing as he did so. Delphine led the way, starting to feel a little unnerved. Any minute now, the singing would start, followed inevitably by capering and probably ending in stabbing – actual stabbing or if they were lucky, just a song about it. Any second now.

“Any trouble?” Delphine called. Eola shook her head. 

“None. Hey, is this Esbern? Pleased to meet you, sir. Eola at your service.”

“No need to call me sir,” said Esbern. “Esbern will do just fine. And the others of you are?”

“Aranea Ienith and Sapphire,” said Delphine. “There's also Calixto Corrium, but he's off taking care of some other business for us. You'll meet him in time. In the mean time, we need to be off. Esbern, you're with me, Cicero behind us. Sapphire and Aranea next, Eola you're on rearguard watch. Let's go.”

“You do have them well trained,” Esbern said in admiration as everyone fell into line without a sound. “Why, you'll have the Blades reformed in no time at this rate!”

“Blades?” Sapphire whispered to Aranea. “I thought we were...”

“We are,” Aranea murmured. “Eola and I will explain on the way. It's... complicated.”

“Just go with it,” said Eola. “It's not exactly untrue. Just not the whole truth.”

Sapphire could only sigh. She just hoped Delphine did actually have a plan and wasn't completely winging this. She'd had enough of explosive political rune-fields with Astrid's group.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

The journey back was surprisingly quiet, although there were rather more figures loitering around in Guild armour than normal, and the Flagon was packed. All of them just waved Delphine and company through. In the upper layers, a few more Thalmor bodies were lying around. Finally, Delphine led them through the door that led out on to the canal side.

To her surprise, she was met by Calixto crouching next to the body of a dead Khajiit, a note in his hand.

“Delphine?” Esbern asked. “Is he with you as well?”

“Oh, hello Li- Delphine,” Calixto corrected himself, needing no warning not to use the title around Esbern. “It turns out the business you sent me on brought me to Riften, and so I kept an eye out for you. Then I saw this individual loitering rather suspiciously near the Ratway's entrance and decided that she was a complication you could do without. Lucky I did, she was carrying this.” He handed her the note. Delphine scanned it. It was from someone simply called E, but Delphine recognised the Thalmor Ambassador's fingerprints all over this one.

“She's a Thalmor spy,” said Delphine crisply. “Orders to watch out for us. Well, Eola and Cicero anyway. You two need to watch yourselves, the Thalmor will be looking all over for you.”

“Oh, Cicero hopes so,” Cicero giggled. “Thalmor think they're so scary? Cicero shall show them who's scary!”

“Careful, my boy,” Esbern warned him. “Many have said that about the Thalmor, many talented mages and mighty warriors both. Most of them succumbed in the end.”

“Ordinarily I'd agree with you,” said Delphine, crunching the note up and tossing it into the canal. “But they may have met their match with Cicero. He's... unpredictable. Come on, let's get out of here. Calixto, did you sort out that new base for us?”

“I did,” said Calixto. “Told the Steward I needed more storage space and wanted the Butcher's lair as an addition to my collection. I also took the liberty of getting a kitchen and dining area put in, there's some bedrolls downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. In addition, I was able to talk the guards into letting me have some old targets for training purposes.”

“Lead on then,” said Delphine, impressed. “We've got a lot to discuss and we need somewhere secure to do it. Let's go.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the journey, Delphine split them up, sending Calixto and Aranea to scout ahead, and Eola and Sapphire to drop back and make sure no one was following. Which left her in the middle with Cicero and Esbern. Cicero, true to form, was singing quietly to himself and dancing along quite merrily behind her.

“Is he... alright?” Esbern asked, mildly concerned. 

“I won't lie to you,” Delphine sighed. “He's had a traumatic life. Everyone he cared about got killed, including his young fiancee, and he was surviving on his own for years. Don't mistake me, he's very good at surviving, but he was very lonely throughout. It wasn't good for him and, well, it's left its mark. But he's here and he's Dragonborn, and he is very very good at what he does. He meant it when he said he'd kill Alduin, you know.”

“But do you think he can really do it?” said Esbern, frowning at the jester, who was now singing about spying a singing bird. “What would he do right now if a dragon swooped down and carried him off?”

“Honestly?” said Delphine, remembering the vehemence with which he'd pounced on Sahloknir. “He'd shove his knife through its jaw, stab its eyes out, make the bugger land and probably walk away untouched while its corpse burned. I told you. He's special. He's unpredictable. He's fearless and deadly, and the fearlessness doesn't come from ignorance or overconfidence either, he knows exactly what he's capable of. And if a dragon showed up right now, he'd either stop the singing and start fighting without even pausing for breath, or he'd start fighting while he sang. Don't underestimate him, Esbern. The ones who do... well, they tend to end up dead.”

“Well, you know him better than I do,” Esbern conceded. “I just hope you're not letting your feelings blind you to his weak points.”

Delphine's mind flashed back to Cicero lying on the Flagon's floor, burned and bloodied. “I know he's not invulnerable,” she said softly. “But he's not easy to kill either.”

“Now that I can believe,” said Esbern. “So tell me as we walk. Wherever did you find him?”

So Delphine told the story of how she'd stepped out to clean her inn porch one day, seen a dragon and ended up in Whiterun where Irileth had brought her this insane jester who was said to be Dragonborn. Of course, she left out the part about the Night Mother and being Listener – no need for Esbern to know that bit – and if Esbern guessed that much was not being said, he didn't show it. He was a Blade too, and Blades knew not to pry. Still, he listened and when Delphine was done, he was looking at Cicero with new respect.

“So you've seen him kill two dragons, he's helped you delve into a dangerous Nordic ruin, he broke into the Thalmor Embassy, and he personally recruited your two most trusted people other than him? I am impressed. Yes, I can see why you like him. There's much to be proud of there. So that's where you've come from, and to put together this entire team in under a month is an impressive feat indeed. What's your next move?”

Kill an innocent woman at her own wedding. But Delphine could hardly say that.

“Well, as far as dragons are concerned, I'm not sure. Our only lead was the Thalmor and they've led us to you. So tell me, Esbern. Now that we've got a Dragonborn, what do we do with him?”

Esbern dived into his backpack and produced a battered copy of Annals of the Dragonguard. 

“Here, one of the few tomes I was able to save from Cloud Ruler Temple's library and the most valuable. Tells of the history of the ancient Blades, and in it are a few references to something I think we'll find invaluable. Alduin's Wall.” He looked at Delphine as if she should know what that was, but was once more disappointed. “Really, Delphine, did you spend any time in class actually paying attention?”

“How was I to know dragons were going to come back?” Delphine scowled. “Go on then. Alduin's Wall. I take it it's somewhere difficult and dangerous to find.”

Esbern opened the book for her and turned the page to an ancient map of Skyrim. Delphine recognised the major cities and a few old settlements that were now in ruins, but the writing was in Akaviri, so it was mostly guesswork for most of it. She noticed the biggest marking of all, a large circle drawn round a dot in what looked like the Karthspire region of the Reach. 

“What's that marking, Esbern? It's clearly important, but I didn't know there'd ever been a settlement out there.”

“Few do, it's been abandoned for centuries,” said Esbern, looking positively gleeful. “But the Blades used to have their Skyrim headquarters there – Sky Haven Temple. Been abandoned for years, of course – the Blades didn't have the resources to keep it up after the Oblivion Crisis. But its very abandonment means it'll still be intact – the Thalmor will never have looted it. I doubt anyone else even knows it's there.”

Delphine felt a little shiver go down her spine. Follow the dragons... let the Blades lead you to it. Sky Haven Temple. Secret, isolated, safe. A proper Sanctuary. 

“So we go there then,” she said, lowering her voice. “See what state it's in, see if it'll make a good base for us.”

“We do,” said Esbern. “Because not only is it abandoned and secret, it's also the location of Alduin's Wall. It's a bas-relief made by the ancient Akaviri, and it tells of the first defeat of Alduin. It also prophesies his return.”

“And you think it might have some clues on how to defeat him. Esbern, that's... that's amazing!” It was further than she'd ever have got on her own, that was for sure.

“Don't speak too soon,” Esbern warned her. “It may be no help whatsoever. It will certainly be an arduous and dangerous journey – I've heard the Reach has become wild these last few years.”

“It has that,” Delphine said, already making plans. “But don't worry. I've got a native Reachwoman in the group, and I have the Dragonborn. We will find this place, Esbern. We will find this place come Oblivion or the outer darkness, and we will make it our own. That I promise you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was past dawn as the volcanic warmth of the Aalto plain gave way to the snows of Windhelm, and the city itself loomed above. Calixto led the way, nodding to the guards as they let him pass.

“Brought guests with you, Calixto?” one called to him.

“A couple of old army friends of mine and their families, visiting the city,” Calixto replied, improvising on the spot. Esbern and Delphine were the right age to have been involved in the Great War to some extent, and Sapphire and Eola could easily pass for a granddaughter or daughter of Esbern and Delphine respectively. Where Cicero fit in was anyone's guess, but Calixto could always either pass him off as a bodyguard... or simply tell the truth, that he was Delphine's younger lover.

“And the Dunmer?” the other guard asked. “Sure I've seen her before.”

“Probably, she was here a few weeks ago visiting me to arrange everything,” said Calixto testily. “She's this gentleman's personal physician. He's an old man, he gets sick sometimes.” Really, he never knew he was quite so good at lying and deceiving. Then again, being a respectable citizen by day and serial killer by night was good practice.

“In that case, in you come,” the guard grunted. “But keep an eye on her, we've already got too many grey-skins in this town.”

“She'll be no trouble,” Calixto assured them, wondering at the stupidity of guards who would cross-examine Aranea, one of the sanest and most stable people in the group, but let Cicero in without a second thought. “Come on in everyone, let's get you all settled.”

Hjerim proved to be even more impressive than any of them expected, although Aranea looked a little nervous and studiously avoided the back end of the house. The place was huge, with a vast living room downstairs, bare at the back except for a couple of wardrobes but outfitted as a dining room and social area at the front. The kitchen off to the side was fully equipped, including food supplies, and three bedrolls had been laid down there. Upstairs was smaller, but the upstairs landing had been fitted with a few target dummies and archery targets, and there were two bedrooms, one small one with a single bed that Delphine assigned to Esbern, and then there was the master bedroom.

“I thought you might like this one, Delphine,” said Calixto, showing her around while the others settled in downstairs. Cicero of course had barely left his Listener's side.

“It's...” - almost the size of my entire inn - “lovely!” gasped Delphine. “Divines, Calixto, this must have cost you a fortune. It's going to take a while to pay you back for this.”

Calixto shrugged. “Think nothing of it, my lady. Lucilla and I made plenty of gold in our adventuring days, and most of it was sitting around going to waste. You and your Family have given me a second shot at doing something with my life. Only fair I give you something back.”

“Well, when I have the funds, I'll see you compensated,” Delphine promised. “The room is beautiful, thank you. Why don't you help out with dinner while Cicero and I settle in?” Cicero had already dashed in squealing and proceeded to start bouncing on the bed.

“Pretty room for pretty Lis- lady!” he chanted, amending the words just in time. “Cicero likes this place.”

Delphine stepped inside, closing the door behind her as Calixto left. 

“Well that's good to know, because you and I will be resting here until tomorrow,” said Delphine. “Now. You appear to have had the nerve to have shown up in my bedchamber in Thalmor armour. Remove it immediately then come here, Dragonborn. Someone needs lessons in etiquette...”

Cicero giggled as he led the golden armour fall to the floor, kicking it away before casually sending the rest of his clothing after it and sauntering over to her, unashamedly hard and naked.

“What did my Listener have in mind?” he murmured. Delphine grinned, reaching out with fingers still cold from having been out in Windhelm, relishing the shrieks as they touched Cicero. 

“Delphine's hands are freezing!” Cicero yelped. “Oh... oh, now that is not fair, Delphine knows Cicero is ticklish, ahahaa, stop, mercy, please, no more, aieeee!!!” Delphine was now gleefully tickling him into submission while warming her hands up at the same time. Really, the way he curled into her and wriggled as he howled for mercy was just delightful. Wrapping her arms around him and holding him to her, she lowered him to his knees.

“Listener?” Cicero gasped, still breathless.

“Bed,” she whispered into his ear. “I have a sudden urge to get under the covers with a willing young man.”

“Cicero is at your service, oh great and powerful Listener,” said Cicero, staggering to his feet and into the bed, laying himself out with a sultry look on his face. Shedding her own armour, she joined him. Having a comfortable double bed at her disposal for once was not something she intended to go to waste. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

“What in the name of Mara are they doing up there?” Sapphire asked, glancing up at the ceiling as the shrieking laughter echoed around the house.

“Do you really want an answer to that question?” Eola asked from across the dining table, where she was adding some seasoning to her own personal serving of Potage a la Thalmor.

“No,” said Calixto and Aranea in unison.

“That she finds the little fool attractive is one thing – there is no accounting for taste after all,” said Calixto with a grimace. “But really, do any of us need to know the details? I personally think not.”

“I have a great deal of time for young Cicero,” said Aranea. “But even I have no wish to know what he gets up to behind closed doors. He and the Listener are happy together. That is all any of us need to know.”

There was a general consensus of opinion amongst the four that this was something they could all agree on.

“Wonder what the old man thinks,” said Eola thoughtfully. “His room's right opposite the lovenest after all.”

“Too busy reading to notice?” Calixto suggested. This was met with general laughter.

“Or so old he's forgotten what sex is,” Sapphire chimed in. More laughter, apart from Aranea, who had folded her arms in annoyance.

“May I remind you all that I'm 280 years old, and compared to me, you're all children. And by the way, I do still remember very well what sex is.”

“Yeah, but you're an Elf,” said Eola. “Different for you guys. You live for ages.”

“Not always,” said Aranea sadly, clearly remembering loved ones who'd gone before her. The mood of the room dropped and conversation fell silent. Then Sapphire changed the subject, remembering something she'd been meaning to ask for a while.

“So anyway, you guys. What's the deal with us anyway? You know, the Brotherhood. Last time I was a member, Astrid was the boss, and the whole thing was based out of an old Nordic ruin just outside Falkreath. So what changed? How'd this group get started? How'd we get the Night Mother working again, and a Listener? And is Astrid's lot still out there?”

As one, all eyes turned to Eola, who stopped eating and looked back at them all.

“What, am I the expert now?”

“You were the first recruit, weren't you?” Calixto said. “And aren't you and Cicero very good friends? You two are the ones Delphine clearly trusts the most. So stands to reason you'd know what the situation with this Astrid is.”

“I don't know a lot,” said Eola, folding her napkin and placing it down on the table, her meal clearly done. “Don't think I was supposed to know as much as I do, but we met Delvin Mallory on a job and he let her name slip. Of course, I wanted to know the rest and hit up Cicero for the juicy details afterwards. Turns out the Falkreath Sanctuary is old, it's been active in Skyrim for centuries. They're the established group, we're the newcomers. When the last Listener died way back when, the Skyrim group kept on operating independently, and they survived when the Cyrodiil Sanctuaries didn't. They were the last Dark Brotherhood group, the very last. All apart from Cicero, who'd been a Cyrodiil assassin, and he'd somehow stayed alive all this time, alive and in hiding with the Night Mother. That was, what, twelve years ago now?”

“Cicero was on his own all that time? Divines, no wonder the little guy's nuts,” said Sapphire, feeling for the first time sympathy for the jester. “Not sure I'd have managed on my own all that time. Course, I'm not sure I wouldn't have abandoned the Night Mother and gone freelance either.”

“Yeah, well, Cicero's old school Dark Brotherhood,” said Eola. “He's loyal to the Tenets and Sithis above all. And they'd made him the Night Mother's official Keeper too. He couldn't go, although I'm sure he must have wanted to at times.”

“So what changed?” Calixto asked. “How did he end up in Skyrim?”

“He was looking for a new Listener,” said Eola. “Trying to save the Brotherhood, put things right, make up for not having been there to save the last one from what I gathered. He didn't really want to talk about the details. But he did tell me that as Astrid's lot were the last surviving Sanctuary, he was going there in the hope one of them might turn out to be the next Listener who'd save them all and restore the old ways, bring the Brotherhood back to its former glory.”

Everyone glanced up to where Delphine's bedroom was.

“Well, looks like he found her,” said Sapphire. “But Delphine was never Brotherhood. I've heard Brynjolf mention her, she was some paranoid ex-Legion recluse who he eventually sweet-talked into joining the Guild for a few years. How'd she become Listener?”

“Don't know,” said Eola with a shrug. “Night Mother liked her style and chose her, I guess. All I know is that Cicero ran into trouble with a dragon on the road and ended up meeting Delphine. She's... well, she's not just ex-Legion, she used to be in the Blades. But that doesn't leave this room, got me? She's been wanted by the Thalmor for years.”

“Not surprising, thought the Thalmor had got all the Blades years ago,” said Calixto, amazed. “Our Listener has tenacity, it would seem.”

“Yeah, well, if they try anything with her now, we'll make them regret it,” said Sapphire, fingering her dagger. “All makes sense though, if Esbern's an old Blade colleague and the Thalmor were after him too. But what does this have to do with her being Listener now?”

“Easy. Blades made it their business to know things about the Brotherhood. The Blades were Imperial bodyguards, the Brotherhood made a living assassinating high-profile figures. Delphine recognised Cicero and the Night Mother for who they were, when the rest all just thought he was some random lunatic trying to get his mother's body home. So she offered them Sanctuary. She had her reasons, don't mistake me, it wasn't a selfless action on her part. But the Night Mother called her as Listener anyway. Well, with a Listener found, Cicero never needed to go visit Astrid any more. So he stayed with her, and together they started recruiting. So here we all are. She was running the whole thing out of the inn she owned, but there's a few too many of us for us all to stay there at once. So now we've got this place.”

Calixto grinned at Aranea, saluting her with a goblet. “We do. Thanks to me and Madam Aranea here.”

Aranea clinked her goblet against us. “Thank you, Brother. But you did most of the work.”

“Yes, but you gave me a reason to do it,” said Calixto, smiling at her. Aranea looked away, starting to blush. Sapphire rolled her eyes at the sight.

“Great, not another happy couple,” she muttered to Eola.

“Hey, plenty of time for one of them to die horribly in service to the Night Mother yet,” said Eola. “Anything else you wanted to know about Astrid's group? Don't know much about them, you understand – Cicero's the only one who's ever been in contact, and all that was in writing.”

“Do they know about us?” Sapphire asked. Eola shook her head.

“Doubt it,” said Eola. “Honestly, do you blame her? Delphine's Listener, which means she's meant to be in charge. You know Astrid better than any of us, do you really think she'd take kindly to Delphine waltzing in with Cicero announcing she was their new boss?”

“She'd kill them,” said Sapphire confidently. “Maybe not right away, not in a straight fight. But she'd kill them. A knife in the back, a slit throat in the night, something like that. But she'd kill them. Astrid's boss in her own Sanctuary. No one gets in the way of that, no one.”

“Right,” said Eola. “So Delphine's keeping her distance, letting them do their own thing while she recruits her own people, builds her own group. Suppose when she's ready, she'll make contact. It's in no one's interests to have a civil war in the Brotherhood.”

“That can't last forever though,” said Sapphire pensively. “And what if Astrid finds out first? I'm not sure how well she'll take the news.”

“How many of them are there?” Aranea asked.

“Seven at the last count,” said Sapphire. “Astrid and her husband Arnbjorn, who is a werewolf by the way and used to be in the Companions. Festus Krex, a wizard. Child vampire called Babette. A Shadowscale assassin called Veezara and a Redguard called Nazir who used to be one of Hammerfell's elite Alik'r warriors. Gabriella, a Dunmer mage. Think that's it, unless they've had a new recruit since I left.”

Aranea looked up sharply at that last name. “Gabriella's still alive? Well. That complicates things.”

“Friend of yours?” Calixto asked. Aranea nodded, a wistful smile on her face.

“Yes. A very good friend of mine back in Morrowind. So she's alive and well and still in the Brotherhood. That's hopefully good news – it's a potential voice in our favour, and it may make her less willing to join in a fight. So seven of them, and given that Esbern may also join in, means we match them now numbers wise.”

“But do we match them talent-wise?” Calixto asked, frowning. “A Shadowscale and an ex-Alik'r, a vampire and a werewolf. I can fight, yes, but I'm not so young as I used to be and I left the Legion after the war ended. I still don't like our chances if it did come down to a fight.”

“Well then,” said Sapphire, straightening her back and thrusting her dagger firmly back into her sheath, “we'd better train like anything, get our skills in order, stay sharp, and if it does come to war, make damn sure we get the drop on them rather than vice versa. Right, folks?”

The response to that was very positive indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The response in the Falkreath Sanctuary to the knowledge that yet another contract had been stolen from them was anything but positive. Assassins took cover as Astrid hurled a war axe across the pond in sheer fury. Arnbjorn winced as it hit the far wall and broke. He'd spent ages honing the edge on it – it'd take days to fix. While he didn't mind his wife's temper, and Sithis knew she had reason to be angry, he could wish it was a little less destructive.

“How dare they?” Astrid screamed, her normally honey-sweet voice sharpening in rage. “Steal our contracts, and not just take the money, but claim they're the Brotherhood into the bargain?? This... this insult just will not do. Whoever these impostors are, we will find them and make them pay!”

“We might be better off recruiting them,” said Nazir from a safe distance. “Whoever they are, they're good. Someone with a very thorough knowledge of Destruction magic took DuFont and his men apart. Sure, maybe Nilsine Shatter-Shield being the Butcher of Windhelm's last kill was coincidence, but does anyone else think that the court mage getting arrested for the crime the very day after was just a bit too neat? And then there's that murder in Winterhold, which we can't even find a client for.”

“Having a mage murdered?” Festus muttered. “Could have been anyone in town, the Nords there all hate magic.”

“But everyone's shocked,” Gabriella countered. “And we'd heard nothing about anyone disliking the man enough to kill him. It looks like a random kill, maybe even an accident if a bear got into town and caught him while he was relieving himself. But people are saying Dark Brotherhood, and we knew nothing.”

“And now someone's butchered that old hag Grelod,” said Babette, who'd sneaked in to the orphanage to see the scene for herself. “In and out, slash to the throat, and all the kids adamant it was a Brotherhood assassin, but all giving conveniently different descriptions of the assailant. Whoever did it even used Grelod's hand to paint 'Hail Sithis!' on the wall in her own blood. I mean, murder is one thing, but why pass yourself off as Brotherhood if you're not one of us? They must know the real Brotherhood will be after them. Do they have a death wish?”

It was the only possible motive that Astrid could think of for trying to get the Brotherhood's attention like this, not unless Nazir had a point and the mysterious murderer really did want to join the Brotherhood but had no idea how to find them. Yet Veezara had been certain Muiri had referred to two of them, which made it less likely to be one lone madman hoping to be recruited, and far more likely to be a rival group co-opting the Brotherhood's name. She sincerely hoped Sithis would bring them all to a painful death, but in the absence of the Wrath of Sithis descending, she was quite happy to take on that role herself. If she could just find out who they were... but they were elusive to say the least. The Grelod kill didn't even make any sense. It couldn't have been about the money – the Aretino boy who'd probably requested it didn't have any, or she'd have sent Babette to investigate weeks ago. So why bother with it, if you were running a rival group of assassins? The only reason to bother with it would be as a way of advertising, but advertising one's existence as a Dark Brotherhood cell when the real Dark Brotherhood knew nothing about you and would almost certainly take exception to their name being used was a terrible idea. So either they were dealing with a group of idiots who thought it would be fun to incur the wrath of the Brotherhood – and the skill and planning involved here made that unlikely – or possibly, just possibly, this group perhaps had reason to think themselves legitimate Brotherhood members. Either that, or they just didn't care. Perhaps they thought the Brotherhood had grown weak. Astrid was determined to demonstrate otherwise... but first she had to find them.

“Babette,” she said thoughtfully, “get yourself over to Windhelm. I think Grelod the Kind must have been who that Aretino boy wanted killed. Find the boy and see if you can get a description of the assassin who visited him, see if it matches the two who stole the Muiri contract. Also see if you can get any news of visitors to the town, new arrivals, strange activity nearby. We've had a suspected kill there and now a suspected client there, which leads me to think they may have a presence in the city, or near it. Gabriella, head to Winterhold, see if you can find out more about the Nelacar death. Anyone there angry enough at him to have him killed, any travellers in town the night of the death? Also stop in at Whiterun on the way, visit your seer friend Olava, see what she can tell you. We will find these people, whatever it takes. No one hides from the Dark Brotherhood!”


	11. Bound Until Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blades Brotherhood have their first big contract to carry out, and Delphine's not the sort of person to just send one person out there with vague instructions, no. Aranea, Calixto and Sapphire set out to end Vittoria Vici's life in style. Meanwhile, Delphine's taking the others in search of Sky Haven Temple, but Esbern is not a stupid man and the strain of living a lie is starting to tell on them all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should probably warn you about the smut in this one - bit of knifeplay and bloodplay involving Delphine and Cicero, and another threesome which came out of nowhere and begged me to be written in. Nothing too graphic, but it's there.

The newly formed Hjerim Brotherhood had spent the daylight hours sleeping and recovering from the long trek from Riften, and were now gathered in the downstairs dining room. Esbern had joined them, and although there was a certain tension in the air, nevertheless everyone seemed to be getting on well. Even Cicero was on his best behaviour, humming to himself and politely asking Esbern if he needed any more venison stew. He'd not mentioned stabbing once. Frankly, Delphine was starting to worry about him. Still, he seemed content enough, so she wasn't going to complain. Right now, he'd finished his own dinner and was sitting cross-legged on the bench wearing a shirt Calixto had lent him, calmly sewing the buttons back on to his own jester shirt. He glanced up at Delphine, caught her looking and smiled at her, a naughty little smile that held both memory and promise in it. Delphine remembered the way he'd looked as she'd ridden him to orgasm that morning, with him clinging to the headboard and moaning as he'd bucked under her, trying to thrust but not quite able to. She'd been pinning his shoulders down quite firmly, telling him that if he made a sound above a whisper, she'd be gagging him. He'd whimpered piteously at the mere idea, whispering that she was a cruel, evil woman. The smile on his face had said otherwise though, and when she'd finally let him come, rolling on to her back and inviting him to take her that way, he'd sunk into her, sighing in ecstasy and whispering his gratitude into her ear as he showered her face with kisses. He'd taken his sweet time though, stroking and touching her and whispering how much he loved finally being allowed to adore his Listener the way she deserved to be and how good she felt. Just hearing him say it had triggered another orgasm, and he'd had his not long after. Things had ended with the two of them collapsed in a sweaty, sticky tangle of limbs, curling up under the blankets as the incessant Windhelm chill started to bite.

 

Now here they all were, gathered at the main table, and Delphine couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so at home. She surveyed them all, her recruits, protegees... her family. And soon, soon she'd have a home for them all too.

 

Taking up a fork, she tapped it against her goblet, calling them all to attention. Eola stopped recounting her edited tale of how she'd won Azura's Star, and they all turned to face Delphine. Even Esbern looked attentive.

 

“Now that we're all done with dinner,” she said, “it's time to talk business. Yes, we successfully managed to extract Esbern from the Thalmor's grasp, and I don't doubt that they will be thinking twice before coming after him or us in the near future. I am extremely proud of you all.”

 

This was met by a raucous chorus of cheers and banging of the table. Delphine wondered if perhaps it had been wise to have quite so much mead served, but it wasn't like anyone was going anywhere tonight.

 

She raised her hands for silence, and the fuss died down.

 

“However, the fact remains that this house, no matter how well outfitted, and thank you Calixto for organising all this by the way, isn't going to be a permanent base for us. It's a big house but it's in the middle of a city and there'll be eyes on it. True, it's the city the Thalmor can move least obviously in, but if they can invade the Ratway, they can get here too. So we'll need to be on the move in the morning.”

 

Pouting and moaning all round. Delphine rolled her eyes. Definitely too much mead on the table – well, not any more, that was precisely the problem.

 

“However, we have a possible solution. Esbern and I have been talking, and he thinks he knows somewhere that'll make a permanent home for us. It's safe, isolated, heavily fortified and best of all, it's been abandoned for years. So tomorrow, he and I are heading out there to check it out.”

 

An excited “oooooh!!!” went round the table. Even Calixto looked impressed. Delphine glanced at Esbern, who was smiling indulgently at them all. Then she turned to Cicero, who was holding his needle mid-stitch and looking frankly miserable.

 

“Something the matter?” she asked.

 

“You're going there on your own?” Cicero asked. “With only Esbern? To some secret place where anything could be lying in wait? And what, pray, is poor Cicero meant to do in your absence? Stay here and fret? Worry and imagine all the possible things that might be trying to kill his sweet Delphine, hmm?”

 

“Cicero,” said Delphine, placing a finger to his lips. “You're coming with us. Of course I'm not leaving you behind. There's something there that concerns you in particular that I think you need to see.”

 

Next thing she knew, Cicero had placed his shirt to one side and thrown his arms around her.

 

“Ooh yes, Cicero and sweet Delphine, on the hunt with wise Esbern! On a quest to find our new Sanc- home! Home sweet home, no more will we roam, and Delphine's dear Cicero not left alone!”

 

“Yes, yes quite,” said Delphine, ruffling his hair and trying to ignore the amused looks she was getting from everyone, including Esbern. “And as our potential new base is in the Reach, Eola will be coming too as she knows the country.”

 

“Born and raised in a Forsworn camp, my friends,” Eola laughed. “And now look at me, I'm sat in Ulfric Stormcloak's city drinking with Nords and Imperials and Namira help me, an Elf. Divines, if my mother saw me now, she'd disown me. And sacrifice me to the old gods, probably.”

 

“Not if Cicero got to her first,” the jester giggled, clinking his goblet against Eola's in a toast. “Cicero would send the old gods a little present, a little substitution of his dear sister for her _dear_ mother.”

 

“Not that dear,” Eola grinned. “Last I heard, she was trying to become a Hagraven.”

 

“A Hagraven?” Esbern stared at her, amazed. “My dear girl, you really did grow up with the Forsworn, didn't you?”

 

Eola nodded. “Yeah. Hated it, but it's where I learned my magic and blade skills. Got tired of Ma being all Forsworn this and take back the Reach that, and complaining I wasn't taking my devotion to the old gods seriously enough. Yeah right, like I'm throwing my life away for a lost cause in armour that barely keeps me covered. Lost two of my sisters that way. Ran away at 16 and never looked back.”

 

“So no point getting you to negotiate with the Forsworn then if we meet any. Noted,” said Delphine, although she'd not really expected that to ever happen.

 

“Forsworn don't negotiate,” said Eola, confirming Delphine's thoughts. “Especially not when you've got a Nord with you. Sorry.”

 

Delphine shrugged. “No matter. We'll cut our way through if we have to. Both of you wait upstairs in my room, I'll be up there shortly to give you further details. Esbern, could you go with them? I need to talk to the others. I've got business to discuss with them as well, and it's probably best if you don't know the details. It's a little high risk, if you get my meaning.”

 

“And you don't want to risk me telling the Thalmor what it is if I ever get caught,” Esbern nodded. “Good thinking, my dear. I'll be upstairs with the other two if you need me.”

 

Delphine could only smile weakly as she watched Cicero take Esbern by the hand and lead her old mentor upstairs, Eola following. It was a good Blades policy, yes... but mostly she just couldn't face the inevitable disappointment if he knew the truth.

 

“So what've you got for us, Listener?” Aranea asked, reverting back to Delphine's title once Esbern was out of earshot. “I presume it's a contract, one you don't want Esbern knowing about.”

 

“One I don't really want anyone knowing about,” said Delphine, beckoning them all closer as she pulled a hand-drawn map of Solitude. “It's our first big contract, and it's going to be a difficult and dangerous one. I can't give you as much background detail as I'd like, not yet. But trust me, this one's important and it needs to go well. It's not your typical stabbing in their sleep, or throat-slitting in a dark alley. This one... well, this one's going to be public.”

 

“Public,” said Sapphire. “As in... middle of the street, broad daylight public.”

 

Delphine nodded. “Yeah. It gets better. You've got to do it at a wedding reception.”

 

“A wedding reception?” Calixto burst out laughing. “Good gods, Delphine, is there any way we could make ourselves less popular? Ruin the day by murdering a guest?” He caught the haunted look on Delphine's face. “Oh sweet Meridia. You want us to kill...”

 

“The bride, yes. Don't all look at me like that, we're the Dark Brotherhood! We kill innocent people in cold blood. Don't tell me you weren't completely aware of that when you signed up.”

 

“Yes, but murdering someone at their wedding – that's harsh, even for the Brotherhood,” said Aranea. “Somebody must hate her pretty badly. An ex-lover? Or maybe it's the groom who they want to hurt.”

 

“Believe it or not, it's not actually personal,” Delphine sighed. “I can't tell you any more, because if you do get caught, I can't have you being in a position to give the long game away. Let's just say it's kind of political and leave it at that, eh? So, your target. She's a noblewoman from Solitude, runs most of the East Empire Company out there. She's marrying the son of a prominent family of Stormcloak sympathisers, one Asgeir Snow-Shod. Her name's...”

 

“Vittoria Vici, yes I've heard of her,” said Calixto, stunned. “Delphine, she's not just noble, she's the _Emperor's cousin_. Half of Cyrodiil's nobility are turning up! And you... someone... wants her dead? At her damn wedding??”

 

“While she's up on the balcony addressing the guests, yes,” said Delphine, rubbing her forehead with a sigh. “I told you it was a big deal. There is a lot riding on this one, my friends. It needs to go flawlessly, and while I hope none of you get caught, it's a real possibility.”

 

The merry mood of earlier had entirely dissipated. All three had sobered up, and their expressions ranged from nauseous to stunned to verging on hostile in Sapphire's case.

 

“So what, you're just sending us into a deathtrap?” she said, arms folded. “This some kind of hazing of the new kids while you take your favourites off on the safe mission?”

 

“I wouldn't call it safe, I have no idea what we'll find out in the Reach, and the Forsworn are everywhere,” snapped Delphine. “But you're not guaranteed to end up dead or in prison either. Look, I scouted the area back when Cicero and Eola were breaking in to the Thalmor Embassy.” Delphine noted with pleasure the stunned look on Sapphire's face at that. “See, they've been sent on dangerous missions too and survived. This time it's your turn. Here, this is the map. I've marked the Temple of Divines here, and this courtyard is where the reception will be. Now, Vittoria will be giving her speech from this balcony. Did any of you perhaps recover a set of Thalmor armour from the Flagon? You did, Sapphire? Excellent. What's that, Aranea, you have a set of Thalmor robes too? Even better. Take it all with you to Solitude, you'll need it. Now. Here's what you're going to do...”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Twenty four hours later, and the Brotherhood had dispersed. Calixto, Aranea and Sapphire were off on their way to Solitude, while Delphine had led the others back to Riverwood to spend the night. Cicero started to get anxious if he was away from the Night Mother for too long. The usual wild beasts aside, things had been quiet. Sure, there'd been those bandits at Valtheim Keep that had tried to charge a toll for them to pass, but running one of them through with her dai-katana before chasing down the rest with Cicero at her heels had soon taught them the error of their ways. Esbern had only been a little appalled at the enthusiasm with which Cicero had hunted down his prey, singing merrily as he went, but Delphine had hastened him out of the fort before he could see Eola going over the bodies as only she could.

 

“I still don't understand the hurry, Delphine,” he'd protested as she led him away.

 

“Cicero's stripping the place of valuables, Eola's seeing to the bodies. Nothing to see, and Eola prefers privacy as she works,” said Delphine, taking him by the arm and leading him out on to the road.

 

“Privacy? To do what?” Esbern asked, confused. Delphine thought fast.

 

“Religious rites. She's very dedicated that way, but doesn't like non-worshippers witnessing her.”

 

“Really? She's paying respects rather than just looting them? Well, that's very noble of her. I shall have to ask her more about it later. I assume it's some holdover from her childhood with the Forsworn. Very interesting, I don't know much about the old gods. Not often one gets a chance to interview a native of the Reach about the old ways.”

 

Delphine could only laugh nervously and hope Eola had sufficient wit to make something up and not start babbling on about Namira.

 

Cicero and Eola finally rejoined them, Eola wiping the last of the blood from her mouth and looking almost presentable, and Cicero kicking his heels and singing “and if the bandits charge a toll, why then indeed I'll make them fall!”

 

“He is rather... exuberant, isn't he?” Esbern asked, looking rather concerned.

 

“He's had a hard life,” said Delphine, deciding that if she pretended everything was entirely normal, maybe Esbern's perceptions would shift to match the majority and he'd start to think the same. “It did affect him a little. But he's just won a fight and he's happy. Nothing to be concerned about. Now, shall we all get moving?”

 

Cicero and Eola enthusiastically took the lead, comparing kills and arguing about who had got the most. Delphine sauntered after them, Esbern at her side. The old scholar scratched his head, frowning. Something was most definitely off about this whole situation, and if he hadn't known better, he could swear Delphine had been lying to him. Still, it beat being holed up in the Ratway. Thinking nothing further of it, he followed them along the road to Whiterun.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Finally, they made it back to the Sleeping Giant, and Eola and Cicero were soon making themselves at home like they'd never been away. Eola settled herself at one of the tables, ordered some bread and a bottle of Honningbrew off Orgnar, and began making herself a Bosmer sandwich, while Cicero immediately dived into Delphine's bedroom to check on the Night Mother.

 

“So this is your inn,” said Esbern, taking a seat and accepting the mead Delphine presented him with. “It's very nice. A welcome surprise after being on the road all day. I must say, I can't imagine you just quietly running this place all these years.”

 

“After the war and the decade or so after it, this place was a welcome change,” said Delphine. “Anything you want, it's on the house, just speak to Orgnar. Your room's on the left, Orgnar's around if you need anything and Eola's next door if there's trouble. Cicero and I will be across the inn in the other bedroom.”

 

Esbern thanked her and settled down to the hot meal she'd provided him with. It was all rather cosy and domestic... or at least it was until the inn shook, a rain of dust fell from the ceiling and an all too familiar roar from outside indicated a dragon had landed on the roof.

 

Esbern was on his feet immediately, casting mage armour and looking for Delphine, who'd last been seen heading into her bedroom, presumably to get some time alone with Cicero. While Esbern wouldn't normally dream of interrupting their private time, this counted as an emergency. He ran across the inn, flinging the door open... only to find the room empty.

 

“Delphine?” he whispered, looking around, confused. “Where are you?”

 

“Don't worry about her,” said Eola, appearing behind him so suddenly he felt his heart flutter in fright. “She'll be fine. Probably out there already fighting it and you just missed her leave.”

 

Slowly, Esbern turned to face the young Reachwoman, who was smiling sweetly at him. He felt a little frisson run down his spine as he looked into her eyes.

 

“You shouldn't worry about her,” Eola repeated, still smiling that strange smile. “You want to worry about that dragon. You should be out there fighting it. They could use your knowledge.”

 

“I – of course they could,” said Esbern, forcing a smile to his face and fighting down the cold sensation of something very wrong going on here. “I'll go out there and help immediately. You'll help too, of course?”

 

“Of course,” said Eola, her voice sounding more normal. “Give me a second to get my things together.” She stood to one side, waiting for Esbern to leave. Esbern smiled nervously, and headed out, hoping his discomfort wasn't too obvious. For he had studied the Daedra and their worshippers, and he recognised an attempt to use Namira's Whisper when he heard it – an ability only given to her priests and priestesses. It worked best near a shrine of Namira, but some servants of Namira could use it elsewhere to a certain extent too, especially if they'd engaged in Namira's rites in the last 24 hours. Feeling sick to his stomach, Esbern realised just what Eola had been doing with the bodies, why no less than three of Delphine's people, including Delphine herself, had warned him not to eat Eola's meat supplies, and that Delphine not only knew, she was tacitly condoning the practice.

 

_Whatever she is running, it is not a Blades cell_ , the thought came unavoidably. What exactly she was running, he didn't even want to think. More importantly, there was a dragon to deal with. So first kill the dragon, and then... maybe it was time to start asking a few questions.

 

Not long after he stepped outside, the other three appeared, bursting out of the inn with weapons drawn and ready. Between them and the guards, it didn't take long for the dragon to succumb. Then Cicero stepped forward, watching it burn. Before everyone's amazed eyes, the dragon's soul rose up from its corpse and surrounded him as he stood there, looking utterly ridiculous in his jester's outfit and yet at the same time deadly serious. Cicero had one hand on his hip and the other holding his sword and he looked almost bored as the dragon soul sank into him. Sheathing his blade, he turned away, heading back to the inn without a word, eyes looking dark and almost inhuman.

 

“Cicero, are you alright?” Delphine asked, sounding concerned. Cicero nodded.

 

“I'm well. The cage holds it quite nicely now.” He smiled at her, and Esbern could see nothing good in that smile, yet Delphine seemed not to notice. “Do not fear for your Cicero, my sweet. The man lives yet.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Delphine said softly, stroking his cheek, predatory smile on her own lips, and that worried Esbern most of all. “I'll see you inside?”

 

Cicero nodded and stalked into the inn. Esbern hastily wiped the worry off his face as Delphine turned to him.

 

“You saw that, right? Saw him take...”

 

“Yes, yes, I saw it, quite extraordinary,” said Esbern, and truth be told, he was impressed. It was just that there were some things in the world worse than dragons, and he wasn't entirely sure this new Dragonborn wasn't one of them. Leaving Delphine to check that the roof of her inn wasn't likely to collapse in the night, he headed inside.

 

The inn was deserted, most of its patrons apart from the comatose Embry having fled when the dragon landed on the roof, which suited Esbern just fine. Making straight for Delphine's room, he slipped inside and immediately noticed the wardrobe door left open, and light coming out of it. To his surprise, but not to any great shock, he saw a set of stairs leading down to a secret cellar, presumably Delphine's base of operations all these years and now probably in use as a lovenest for her and Cicero. His better judgement screamed against descending – Delphine had kept it secret for a reason, and clearly Eola had been attempting to warn him off investigating earlier. And yet he needed answers and something told him he'd find them here. Slowly, he made his way downstairs.

 

The room was a small stone chamber, well-lit and well-provisioned with an alchemy lab and supplies, several weapon racks, a training dummy, an arcane enchanter, a central table and chairs... and on the far side of the room, with several furniture items having been shoved aside to make room, was an ancient stone coffin. It was upright and open, and clearly contained the mummified ruins of a dead woman. At its feet, Cicero was kneeling, candles lit around the coffin, flowers lying at the woman's feet and various bottles of oil positioned around him.

 

Esbern stepped back, shock numbing his mind and slowing his reactions. One foot collided with the stairs and, horror of horrors, Cicero looked up, turned around and locked eyes with Esbern like some creature out of nightmare. A second passed, and then Cicero sprang to his feet, slamming the coffin shut, and drew his daggers, leaping on to the table that separated them and crouching there like some Daedric beast.

 

“You dare come down here uninvited??” Cicero shrieked. “You dare look upon her, you, an outsider, a stranger, a... _guest?_ ” He spat that last word out with all the righteous indignation of a host whose guest had unforgivably breached the laws of hospitality. Esbern, being a Nord, was all too aware of what usually happened to such guests.

 

“Cicero... my boy... please, you don't have to do this,” Esbern whispered. “I don't mean you harm.”

 

“Liar!!” Cicero shouted, eyes flashing furiously and in that instant, Esbern had the feeling he was staring straight into Oblivion. “You would do harm to Mother, burn her with your mage fire. Well, Cicero will not have it, no! Cicero will protect Mother to the death! TO THE DEATH!” Cicero's teeth were bared in a rictus of rage, bearing no resemblance to the odd but kind man who'd been nothing but polite and friendly on first meeting Esbern. Now Cicero seemed more like the dragons he was meant to fight than anything else. Still, Esbern was a Blade to the last, and Blades did not beg.

 

“If you kill me, you will never know how to interpret Alduin's Wall,” said Esbern, deciding to at least attempt to reason with the madman. “Not to mention I don't think Delphine would be pleased, do you? Not after going to all the trouble of rescuing me.”

 

Cicero laughed at that, a mad cackle that sent shivers down Esbern's spine. “Oh, defiling Esbern should give thanks to Talos that Delphine has reserved that order for herself! Otherwise he would  _already be dead._ ”

 

Well, that was something to be thankful for, although Esbern didn't find it comforting that Delphine had had to specify no one was to kill him except on her orders.

 

“You had better find her then,” said Esbern, trying to keep his voice steady. “If you can't kill me without her permission, and yet I must die for beholding the Night Mother – yes, Cicero, I have studied your order. If I must die, you had best find Delphine so she can approve it.”

 

A flicker of something like sanity passed across Cicero's eyes, although he did not lower his knives.

 

“You are not afraid?” he asked. Esbern shook his head.

 

“No, my boy. I am an old man, and I've lived a long time, avoided death on many occasions, some too close for comfort. I'm already a fugitive. If I am to die, I would rather a quick death at the hands of a skilled professional such as yourself than a long and drawn out one at the Thalmor's hands.”

 

That did make Cicero laugh, flashes of the fool resurfacing.

 

“Ooh, brave! Very brave. Cicero accepts the compliment, kind Esbern. However, Cicero cannot fetch Delphine without leaving, and he will not leave you alone with Mother. So what do we do, we two, me and you? How to call Delphine without causing a scene?”

 

“No need,” Delphine's voice echoed down the stairs, and really Esbern had never been so relieved to hear it in his life. “I'm here. Cicero, put your weapons away. Esbern, hands by your side and step away from the coffin. _Now._ ”

 

There was no arguing with that voice. Esbern sank into the nearby chair, placing his hands on the table and wishing they'd stop shaking. Cicero had lowered his weapons a fraction.

 

“He saw the Night Mother,” Cicero growled. “He, an outsider, laid his defiling eyes on _our Mother_. The penalty is death! Only give the order, sweet Listener, and Cicero shall send the treacherous mage to his grave-”

 

“That's _enough,_ ” Delphine's voice cut through Cicero's ravings, and he fell silent. 

 

“I told you before,” said Delphine softly as she stepped into the room, approaching the table to lock eyes with Cicero, voice cold as midnight and as dark. “No one is to lay a finger on Esbern, not even you, unless I give that order. Now get out of here, go join your sister. I will deal with this.”

 

Cicero still looked mutinous, but he'd lowered his weapons. “Cicero is Keeper, Mother's sworn protector, how can he abandon her to the defiler? How can he trust Esbern will not harm her?”

 

“Do you trust me?” Delphine asked with a smile. She'd not even spared Esbern a second glance, all her attention focused on Cicero. “Do you trust me to keep Mother safe?”

 

For a few heartstopping moments, Delphine and Cicero stared each other out in an unspoken battle of wills... and then Cicero sheathed his blades and hopped down from the table, shooting a furious glance at Esbern.

 

“Yes,” he said curtly. “So Cicero shall obey his Listener and leave her to deal with the problem. But if any harm comes to Mother, any harm at all, Cicero shall not be held responsible for his actions!”

 

“I know. Thank you,” said Delphine, her voice now gentle. She gave Cicero's shoulder a squeeze, and Cicero nodded in respect, saluting her with a fist to his chest. Barely looking at Esbern, he walked out briskly, head held high and the barest hint of a bounce in his step. Delphine waited until she heard the false panel slide back into place before letting out the breath she'd been holding.

 

“Esbern. My god, are you alright?” She reached out instinctively to him, and Esbern couldn't help but flinch from her touch. Taking the hint, and barely managing to conceal the crushed feelings in her own mind, Delphine sat down across from him, hands folded on the table.

 

“This... isn't how I'd have chosen for you to find out,” she said, not daring to meet his eyes.

 

“How long?” Esbern asked. _How long have you been the mother of monsters?_ The question hung between them, not needing to be voiced in its entirety for both to know what it meant.

 

“Not long,” said Delphine. “Esbern, please believe me, I had nothing to do with the Dark Brotherhood until a month ago, when I met Cicero. He was transporting the Night Mother across Skyrim, and ran into a dragon that was flying around near Whiterun. When he killed it, he took its soul, and the guards who'd witnessed it knew from that he was Dragonborn. They took him to Whiterun and that's how I met him. Esbern, you have to believe me, I didn't intend for any of this to happen. I just saw a Dragonborn and couldn't walk away. That he's a Dark Brotherhood assassin – well, he's been that for years and that's never going to change. If joining the Brotherhood is the only way to reach him, then so be it.”

 

“Delphine,” said Esbern, his heart aching for the impossible situation she'd found herself in. “It doesn't have to be this way, we can get away from here, just you and me. Maybe after Alduin is dead, we can leave this Dragonborn to his own devices, reform the Blades perhaps. You don't have to be a part of this-”

 

“No,” said Delphine, cutting him off. “No, Esbern. Whatever happens, I am not, repeat, not abandoning my family. Didn't you hear Cicero call me Listener? This is not just some role I'm playing to keep the Dragonborn on side. _This is who_ _I am_.”

 

That was exactly what Esbern had been afraid of, for far more years than he could count. But he had to at least try and reach her.

 

“Delphine, the Blades are your family-” he began, but realised as he spoke that this had been the wrong thing to say. Delphine's eyes flashed in anger.

 

“The Blades are dead!” she snapped. “Because the Thalmor killed them! And in all these years, we've been hiding, running scared, each one alone, and me unable to reach out to any of them in case it got us both killed. The Thalmor call my very existence an affront to them, did you know that? Well, I'm done running. I'm done being cold and lonely, I'm done hiding from myself. I'm done just surviving for survival's sake. The Night Mother chose me, Esbern, me! She chose me to issue her orders, lead her children, restore her Family to its former glory, just as the gods led me to the first Dragonborn in centuries. So no, Esbern, I cannot just walk away from this. They might be murderous, insane killers, but you know what? They're my murderous, insane killers and I'm damn proud of all of them!” She finally met Esbern's eyes and he recognised that stubborn look all too well. He felt his spirits drop as he finally acknowledged that he'd never win this fight. She was lost, lost to Sithis and the Night Mother. Surprisingly, with this realisation he felt a weight slip off his shoulders, a strange calm descending as he finally surrendered to the inevitable.

 

“So where does this leave us?” he heard himself asking. “I'm not about to join the Dark Brotherhood, and yet you can hardly let me go. The Thalmor would find me eventually, and I don't suppose you want to risk the knowledge that one of their most wanted is now leading the Dark Brotherhood getting back to them. As I said to Cicero, I am an old man and do not fear dying... but I confess I do not wish to expire just yet. Nor, I suspect, do you want to give that order either, although I don't doubt Cicero wouldn't hesitate to carry it out. Also, if you wish to learn anything from Alduin's Wall, you need me alive. So. What do we do?”

 

Delphine folded her hands on the table, silent. At length, she looked up. Esbern took one look at the harrowed look in her eyes and felt rather sorry for her. It couldn't be easy, having all that responsibility on her shoulders.

 

“I am in your hands, my dear,” said Esbern gently. “Whatever you decide, I won't think harshly of you. You never asked for any of this, I know. I can't approve of the Dark Brotherhood's work, but the way you're rising to the challenge does impress me.”

 

“Don't,” Delphine whispered, her voice ragged. “Don't say that. I'm a leader of assassins, for Talos' sake, don't go reminding me there's some decent human beings out there.”

 

“I can see how that might be a problem,” said Esbern calmly. “An occupational hazard, I would think.”

 

“You have no idea,” Delphine laughed, her features relaxing. “All right. This is how it's going to work. You're going to be an honorary Dark Brotherhood member. Our hostage, if you will. Permanent guest, if that's any better. You travel with us, you stay with us. We'll protect you from the Thalmor and anyone else with hostile intentions, we'll shelter and feed you. In return, you don't go running off or try to escape. You definitely stay well away from the Night Mother. Cicero is very protective of her and I can't guarantee your safety if you interfere with her. Unless I'm with you, you go nowhere near her, got that?”

 

“I understand,” said Esbern. “Thank you, it is more than I had hoped for. I am an old man with not many years left to me. A quiet and comfortable environment with my books in which to see out my twilight years is all I really want out of life these days. If you can provide that, well. As long as you don't drag me into Brotherhood business, I will be quite content.”

 

“I'll keep you well away from the contracts, I promise,” said Delphine, smiling properly for the first time that night. “Talos, but it's a relief to finally just admit it. The strain was starting to tell on me.”

 

“I can imagine,” said Esbern dryly. “Tell me, that young Eola. Is she a follower of Namira by any chance? And those personal meat stores of hers that you've all been at pains to point out should never be eaten by anyone else, are they...?”

 

Delphine nodded, looking faintly revolted. “I'm afraid so. She's not going to give it up though, and she's one of the best we have. The Dark Brotherhood can't afford to be choosy. She's still better adjusted than Cicero.”

 

That Esbern had no trouble agreeing with. Delphine got to her feet, holding out a hand to him.

 

“Come on. Let's go speak to the children.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Cicero and Eola were waiting for them upstairs. The door to the inn was wedged firmly shut, and Cicero was stretched out on Delphine's bed, head resting in Eola's lap. She was sitting on the pillow, idly stroking his hair. Both looked pensive, and as soon as Delphine walked in, Cicero sat bolt upright, snatching up his hat and pulling it on. His eyes darkened as soon as he saw Esbern.

 

“The defiler lives,” he snarled.

 

“Yes he does,” said Delphine. “We've talked and we've come to an arrangement.”

 

“An arrangement?” Cicero hissed. “He _saw Mother_. There can be no arrangement! Unless... unless my Listener is planning to delay the sentence until we get out into the country. Open road, no witnesses, leave the body for the beasts. Clever!” Cicero clapped his hands at the ingenuity of the plan. At least he did until Delphine turned her full fury on him.

 

“Cicero!” she snapped at him. “Esbern is not going to die! Not by my hand... or by yours.”

 

“What???” Cicero cried. “Listener, with all due respect, he is _not one of us._ How can you suffer him to live now?”

 

Delphine stepped smartly across the room and laid hands on his shirt, hauling him to his feet and actually lifting him off the ground a little. “Who is Listener here, you or me?” she said softly, in a voice somehow more terrifying than if she'd shouted. “Who hears the Night Mother's voice, Cicero?”

 

“You – you do, Listener,” Cicero whispered, cowed into submission. “Listener, please, Cicero has only just mended this shirt...”

 

“You will have considerably more than your shirt to worry about if you ever dare cross me in this, Cicero,” said Delphine, still with that quiet, dangerous tone to her voice. “This agreement was made in the Night Mother's very presence, and given that I could apparently hear her from out in the street when the need arose, I think she'd have said something if any of it had displeased her, don't you think? Now, are you going to listen to the terms or not?”

 

“Cicero will listen,” Cicero gasped. “If Listener could please put me down? Cicero is not fond of heights...”

 

“You're barely an inch off the ground,” said Delphine, letting him go. Cicero dropped to the floor and huddled up there, kneeling at her feet and staring up at her, caught somewhere between terror and adoration. Satisfied that he at least would be no further trouble, she turned to Eola. “What about you, have you got any objections?”

 

Eola had not got where she was in life by being an idiot. “Oh no, Listener, whatever you say. You're the boss!”

 

“Good,” said Delphine, relaxing. “All right, this is what we've decided. I've told him the truth about who we are, what we do. I've not told him about any of our contracts – we both agreed it would be best if he knew as little about that side of the business as possible. So we don't discuss contracts in progress in front of him. But he has agreed to help us investigate dragons.”

 

“Go on,” said Eola, clearly sensing there was more to this. “So far, this sounds like nothing's changed, but...”

 

Delphine glanced at Esbern, who was sitting in her chair, seemingly calm, but who knew what was actually going through his head. He'd just bartered away his freedom to the Dark Brotherhood after all.

 

“Esbern's ours now. We shelter him, feed him, protect him... but he's also not going anywhere. I've claimed him as a hostage of the Brotherhood, which means he'll be spending his remaining years under our watchful eyes. No fleeing, no running away. When we've claimed Sky Haven Temple, it will be his permanent home. We'll treat him well, we won't be chaining him or locking him up – but he's not a free man any more.”

 

Eola and Cicero both looked stunned at this, Eola watching Esbern with a great deal of sympathy and Cicero... well, if she hadn't known better, she might almost have said he was jealous, but surely not...

 

“Do not feel sorry for me,” said Esbern gently. “I have had a long and eventful life, and most of it has been spent on the run from the Thalmor. To be able to spend my remaining years in relative safety and security – it is a better end than I had expected.”

 

“Cicero is not sorry for Esbern!” Cicero burst out. “To be enslaved and held hostage by the Listener, living or dying at her whim... the rest of us should be so lucky!”

 

Eola dissolved into hysterical giggles, while Esbern just looked a little bemused. Delphine could feel herself blushing.

 

“What are you talking about, Cicero?” she sighed, nudging him with her foot. “You're already mine!” Cicero just giggled, going a little pink himself.

 

“Cicero is his beloved's Listener's, to do with as she pleases,” he giggled. “Cicero thinks the defiler Esbern is getting off lightly, far too lightly. But he will not argue. He will bow to his Listener's will in this.”

 

“Good,” said Delphine, feeling herself finally relax properly. It wasn't what she'd wanted, but all told, things could have gone worse. “Eola, why don't you take Esbern back to his room? It's late and we're all tired. Time we all turned in.”

 

Eola got up and offered Esbern her arm. “Come on, old man. Let's get you to bed.”

 

Normally Esbern might have bridled at being called old, but things had progressed to the stage where he no longer cared. Bidding a polite goodnight to Delphine and Cicero, he let Eola lead him out.

 

The inn was empty, Orgnar still tidying up the roof and everyone else having decided that, post-dragon attack, they no longer felt quite like stopping in for a drink that evening. Eola showed Esbern into his room, still the epitome of courtesy. Esbern eyed her suspiciously.

 

“You're being surprisingly accepting of this whole arrangement. Should I be worried? I mean, you might have to kill me one day.”

 

“I doubt it'll be me, if that day ever comes,” said Eola. “In the mean time, until and unless Delphine orders otherwise, you're ours. And we look after our own. Why make life unpleasant in the interim by being rude or cruel?”

 

Why indeed. As Esbern sank into the bed, he could only be grateful that at least he'd fallen in with well-mannered monsters.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Delphine sat in front of the Night Mother, blanket wrapped around her to keep the chill out. Behind her, Cicero lay stretched out on the table, wrapped in a nest of blankets, freshly covered in marks from their latest bout of lovemaking, if one could call it that. They'd ended up on the table downstairs, Delphine pinning him down and alternately cutting and healing as he'd howled beneath her in a frenzy. It was a good thing she'd lashed him to the table legs with leather strips really – as it is, he'd have marks around his wrists and ankles for days. He didn't seem to mind or even notice – indeed, he'd been far feistier than normal. Whether it was the after-effects of the attempted challenge and having to have rank pulled on him, or the dragon soul still rattling around in his brain, or both, he'd seemed to want – crave – harsh treatment, to push back, demand more, test the boundaries just to make sure they held. When she'd finally let him go, he'd sulked that the healing magic hadn't left him with any marks. She'd turned him onto his front and lashed him with leather until he had more than enough marks to keep him happy. Afterwards he'd collapsed on the table, curled up on the blanket she'd placed under him, hazy smile on his face, and thanked her. When she'd asked what for, he'd just said, “For your kindness and your cruelty.”

 

“I'm not entirely sure I can tell the difference any more,” she said, eyeing the newly formed welts all over his backside, thighs and shoulders. Cicero had just chuckled to himself.

 

“Cicero does not care. Cicero loves them both.” He'd then yawned sleepily, seemingly unaware he'd said anything terribly significant, and closed his eyes. Delphine had retrieved a pillow for his head and tucked a blanket around him, then stepped back to watch him, feeling simultaneously motherly, aroused and just plain terrified. Preferring not to think about what she'd do if – no, when – he said he actually loved her, she left him to doze and settled herself in front of the Night Mother.

 

“Well, Mother, I hope tonight meets with your approval,” she sighed. “I don't know what alternatives I've got if it doesn't.” She remembered the chill that had run down her spine as the Night Mother's voice had echoed in her head while she'd been surveying the inn roof. “ _Listener! Outsider, in my Sanctuary. Swiftly now, come to me if you do not want blood..._ ” It had been a bit of a shock to realise that the Night Mother's range extended that far, but not as big a shock as realising who the outsider must be. She'd never moved so fast in all her life. Even now, she still wasn't sure she'd done the right thing, but no one had died at least. She'd just have to live with the guilt – not like she could go back on things now. Releasing Esbern would also mean removing the protection of the Brotherhood – if the Thalmor didn't find him, Cicero wouldn't hesitate to hunt him down.

 

“ _You guess truly,_ ” the Night Mother rasped, speaking again for the first time since her earlier warning. “ _Do not waste time on regret, you have done the only thing you could have done without bloodshed. You did well, Listener. My Keeper is very good at his job – a little too good, and he has the fire of a Dragon in his blood besides. Few could have restrained or controlled him tonight, but you managed it.”_

 

_In more ways than one_ , Delphine thought and instantly regretted it as the Night Mother laughed.

 

“ _Yes, you did that too, very well, I might add. Oh, don't be embarrassed, I've been watching my children for many years now, and I've seen what they get up to. Certainly I can see with my Listener's eyes if I wish. It is good to finally see my Keeper happy at last. He's not a man intended for being on his own, without guidance, without a strong hand to keep him steady. You are good for him... as he is good for you.”_

 

“I'll be sure to tell him,” Delphine promised, glancing up at the mass of blood-red hair that was all she could presently see of Cicero. “He'll like knowing we've got your blessing.”

 

“ _See that you do, see that you also tell him your hostage arrangement has my approval. I would hate for there to be any... accidents._ ”

 

Delphine nodded. While she didn't think Cicero would dare disobey her, the Unholy Matron's backing couldn't hurt.

 

“Is there anything else for tonight?” Delphine asked, thinking it was probably time to wake Cicero up and get him upstairs.

 

“ _Only one thing. Another child has called to their Mother tonight. Fortunate it is that you are already heading that way. Go to the Forsworn camp at Karthspire and speak to their Matriarch, the Hagraven Mireen. She has performed the Sacrament and requires our aid._ ”

 

“A Hagraven? Forsworn?” Delphine could barely believe it. “They want to speak to us?

 

“ _Why not? Sithis is the oldest of the old gods, the oldest of all the gods. The Hags call on him too, but not normally on me. Fear not, Listener. Your young Eola will be of assistance here. She won't like it, to be sure... but she will prove invaluable._ ”

 

“I bet she won't,” Delphine sighed, getting to her feet. But there was no help for it. Bidding the Night Mother good night, she closed the coffin and nudged Cicero awake, helping him up the stairs to where their double bedroll awaited. This assignment didn't bode well.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Aranea stood by the gateway, arms folded and trying to look as haughty and unapproachable as possible, glaring at everybody in sight. It seemed to be working – so far everyone had left her well alone. Whether it was her stance or the Thalmor wizard robes, she had no idea and frankly didn't care. People had taken one look at the outfit and hastened past. No one had even noticed she was a Dunmer, not an Altmer. No one except old Noster the beggar.

 

“I didn't know they let grey-skins into the Thalmor these days,” he'd asked, frowning.

 

“The Thalmor take any Mer in sympathy with their ideals,” said Aranea, doing her best to sound as snotty as possible. “Including Dunmer. Now move along, human.”

 

Noster had moved away, muttering that he had better things to do than talk to stuck-up Thalmor anyway. Aranea breathed a silent sigh of relief. Across the courtyard, Calixto was mingling with the crowd, charming and flirting with the women, complimenting the men while simultaneously managing to leave everyone barely remembering anything about him. Good trick that, Aranea would have to learn it some day. Not least because Sapphire was taking full advantage of the distraction to lift valuables from all and sundry. Aranea guessed that Sapphire would probably make more from stolen goods than she would from the actual assassination.

 

Finally, the happy couple left their thrones and slipped away, disappearing up the stairs that led to the balcony. Sapphire, who had been covertly keeping watch on them all afternoon, slipped away, nudging Calixto as she did so. Calixto didn't react, but about twenty seconds later he too had extracted himself from his current conversation and slipped after her.

 

Vittoria began to give her address, some meaningless babble about unity and how politics could be put aside for one day, Aranea wasn't really listening. What she was listening for was Sapphire's voice, and she soon heard it, raised in indignant protest as the Penitus Oculatus guard by the entrance the bride had just passed through spun round, sword in one hand and Sapphire's hand, which he'd just found in his pocket, in the other. Sure enough, city guards were soon descending on her, her pockets were being turned out and valuables from half the crowd were being examined. Sapphire's protests about having been set up nearly drowned out Vittoria, but it had the desired effect of drawing guard attention away from the door to the balcony that Calixto had just slipped unobtrusively into. Aranea held her breath and moved slowly to the middle of the gateway, ostensibly to hear Vittoria better but also conveniently blocking anyone in the courtyard from trying to leave it. Not long now. Surely not. Just a few seconds more...

 

The door behind the bride opened and sunlight flashed on gold Thalmor armour. Calixto was a quick changer, Aranea gave him that. Quick at other things too. Before Asgeir could react or even fully realise he was there, Calixto had darted forward, drawn an Elven dagger neatly across Vittoria's throat, dropped it and her to the floor and fled out of the back door.

 

Chaos erupted as screaming broke out and weapons were drawn. Sapphire found herself only with two guards to deal with instead of several guards and an agent and wasted no time lifting their swords from their sheaths and gutting them both in one practiced motion. Aranea cast a rune to cut off the courtyard with one hand and turned lightning magic on the Penitus Oculatus agent with the other. He staggered back and Aranea cast her mage armour and summoned a Frost Atronach to distract the guards. Then Calixto emerged, sword in hand, and struck down the agent before he could recover. Sapphire had snatched her stolen goods back, taken down a couple more guards and was already sprinting for the side exit out of Solitude. Knocking back her magicka restoration potions, Aranea followed, blasting magic at every guard in sight. Behind her the rune exploded, causing yet more screaming. Calixto was by her side, head down to obscure his human features and sword out to discourage questions. Behind the Hall of the Dead they ran, towards the market, and then through the gate that led to the city's side entrance near the docks. Totally unguarded, as Delphine had promised, and leading straight out onto the inlet. Sapphire was already swimming for it.

 

“You can swim, I trust?” Calixto murmured in her ear. Aranea nodded and followed him into Solitude Inlet. The water was bitterly cold, but the fear of pursuit tended to spur one on. Adrenaline coursing through her veins, Aranea struck for the shore, Calixto behind her. The heavy robes were slowing her down and Aranea finally shrugged them off, leaving just a woollen vest and her trousers on. That sped things up and eventually she crawled out on to the far shore, in Hjaalmarch and out of the Haafingar guards' reach. Shivering, she collapsed on the beach. Calixto emerged behind her and flung himself down at her side.

 

“Divines, we did it,” he gasped. “Holy Sithis, we just killed a woman. In front of the entire city!” He burst out laughing, unable to contain the euphoria.

 

“You did the actual killing,” Aranea pointed out, hauling herself upright with an effort.

 

“Oh, and that rune of yours didn't take a few people out?” Calixto responded, eyebrow raised. He finally got a proper look at her, soaked to the skin and unusually bare-headed for once. “Sweet Mara, you're... you look... cold,” he finished, although Aranea was fairly certain that hadn't been what he'd been thinking. He stripped out of the Thalmor armour, casting it to one side and leaving him in his more usual tunic and trousers, surprisingly still dry.

 

“Thalmor armour's that waterproof?” Aranea asked.

 

“Apparently,” said Calixto. “It really is quite incredible stuff, you know. I may keep it.”

 

“If Delphine ever lets you wear it again,” said Aranea, rubbing her arms in an attempt to get warm. Before she knew it, Calixto was removing his tunic as well. “Azura's mercy, man, what are you doing??”

 

“I can survive without it for a bit,” said Calixto. “You won't, you're wet and you're clearly freezing.”

 

“Yes,” said Aranea, rolling her eyes. “But you're forgetting one thing. I'm a damn Dunmer.” One click of her fingers and the flames of Ancestor's Wrath flickered into life, drying her off and warming her up. It wouldn't last for long but it would get her dry and that was the main thing. Calixto laughed and pulled his tunic back on. Aranea was surprised at the little flash of disappointment inside her as he did so. She'd never really gone for human men before. Human women, yes, but not the men, she'd always preferred her fellow mer. Still, for a man in his fifties, middle-aged by human standards but nothing for an Elf, he wasn't looking too bad.

 

“So where is Sapphire anyway?” Aranea asked, luxuriating in the warmth. “She wasn't that far ahead of us. Don't tell me she's halfway to Riften already.”

 

“Relax, sibs, I'm over here,” Sapphire drawled. “While you two were lazing about, I was retrieving the stash of goods and clothes we left out here. Here. Spare weapons. Spare robes for you, Aranea.”

 

Aranea took them a little gingerly. They'd been cleaned since Cicero and Delphine had liberated them from their previous owner, but the green skull on the front clearly proclaimed they'd once been a necromancer's. Still, needs must.

 

“A bit of food,” Sapphire continued, “roast rabbit, grilled chicken, a few leeks and carrots, bit of bread, and oh, what's this? Could this be... two bottles of Black-Briar Reserve from Mercer Frey's personal store? Why yes it is! Fancy a drink, my friends?” She produced three goblets from her pack and poured out drinks, passing them round.

 

“Sapphire, you're a bloody marvel,” said Calixto, practically drooling at the sight of the clear mead. “My girl, you may consider yourself a dear friend of mine for life. I've been trying to get hold of this stuff for years.”

 

Aranea had to agree, the mead tasted divine. “A toast,” she suggested, raising her goblet.

 

“To what?” Calixto asked.

 

“To a mission accomplished,” said Sapphire.

 

“To Sithis and the Night Mother,” said Calixto, the mead already going to his head. “And to our brilliant and talented Listener for planning all this.”

 

“To life and death,” said Aranea. “To bringing the one and still being the other. To us, brother and sister mine.”

 

“To us!” Calixto and Sapphire laughed, clinking their glasses against hers. They drank, and it was the first of many shared that night.

 

Aranea woke up to several things: a splitting hangover, the realisation that she was naked and in a bedroll, but with little memory of having got there, and that she was firmly sandwiched in between the other two, head resting against Calixto's chest, Sapphire pressed against her back and both of them with their arms around her.

 

_What in the name of Nerevar..._ Slowly, the memory started to come back, of the after-effects of Ancestor's Wrath mixing with strong mead, of feeling far too warm and too drunk to care and shedding layers of clothes until she was lying back on the bedroll in her underwear, heedless of the other two staring at her.

 

“I'm hallucinating,” Calixto had said. “Clearly it's the mead, it's making me see gorgeous Dunmer women disrobing themselves in front of me.”

 

“I'm drinking more of it then,” said Sapphire, taking a swig from one of the bottles.

 

Aranea had just closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth both inside and out. They'd got a fire going, and Aranea was lying nearby, trying to expose as much of herself to it as possible.

 

“Aren't you warm too? Don't you want to get rid of all those layers?” she'd purred. Sapphire had gone very still at the mere idea, glancing at Calixto nervously.

 

“Let's say neither of us do,” said Calixto, having been appraised some time before of Sapphire's preferences. “I'm not a fan of cold Northern winters.”

 

“Yeah, and I moved to the Rift for a reason,” said Sapphire. “Got tired of risking frostbite and hypothermia every day – oh!” She put her hand to her mouth, horrified. “Cal! She's got hypothermia! This is one of the signs. Paradixi- paradaki- taking your clothes off even though you're freezing to death. We need to warm her up, quick!” She'd wrapped herself around Aranea and gasped as her arms met the Dunmer's skin.

 

“Ohhh...” she'd sighed. “Oh, you're not cold at all. You're really warm! Cal, feel this, would you? She's toasty!”

 

“I'm a Dunmer,” Aranea said, wondering vaguely why humans were always so surprised at the species differences between them and the Mer. “We have higher core body temperature than you. Especially after using Ancestor's Wrath. Or drinking alcohol. Or both.” She giggled as Calixto's hands slid around her. “Ooh, you two feel cold.”

 

“Would you like us to stop?” Calixto murmured in her ear, spooning around her. “We can if you want.”

 

“Except you're pretty. And you're hot. Literally. Really hot,” said Sapphire, sliding nimble fingers up Aranea's thighs. Aranea couldn't stop herself moaning at the sensation of cold fingers on her skin.

 

“Is that a yes? Should we continue?” Calixto had murmured in her ear.

 

“Yes,” she'd gasped. “Oh yes.” So they'd continued, both of them contriving to remain fully clothed throughout while she'd been naked within seconds. She only had vague memories of what had happened after that, but she had the feeling it had ended with Calixto fucking her mouth while Sapphire had what had felt like her entire hand in her pussy. Dammit. An uninhibited threesome that she could barely remember and now not only an uncomfortable morning-after but a hangover from the fires of Oblivion itself. Sanguine's balls, this was not how she'd wanted things to end up. Her only hope was that neither of them remembered anything either.

 

“Hey, 'Nea, you up?” Sapphire asked wearily. “Don't suppose you know any hangover cure spells?”

 

“No,” Aranea scowled, “Or I would be using one right about now. But if you have a Cure Poison potion, that would help.”

 

“Dragon's Tongue tea,” Calixto murmured. “That's just the ticket after big nights out. Gods, but I'm not as young as I used to be.” He opened his eyes and glanced at Aranea and all hopes that he might have conveniently forgotten about the night before faded as he smiled at her.

 

“Hello there, dear. How are you feeling?”

 

“Hungover, mortified and embarrassed. I think I would quite like to be dressed and on the road. Without you two looking at me. If that's not too much to ask.”

 

Calixto's face fell, but he did the gentlemanly thing and looked away while Aranea reached for her clothes and dressed, before knocking back three healing potions and a poison cure and walking away to get some badly-needed space.

 

Sapphire crawled out of her own bedroll, gathered the healing potions Aranea hadn't consumed and came to sit next to Calixto, passing them over without a word.

 

“We didn't force her, did we?” Sapphire asked, feeling guilty. “She was a totally willing participant in all that, right?”

 

“She was,” Calixto nodded. “I rather think that may have been the problem.”

 

“Oh.” Sapphire digested this for a few seconds. “Should we go after her?”

 

“No, let her be,” Calixto sighed. “She'll be back soon enough. When she does, I suggest we all act as if last night never happened. Easier on her that way.”

 

Sapphire pouted but couldn't really disagree. “Shame that. She's one hot dark elf.”

 

“Tell me something I don't know,” Calixto sighed, getting up and seeking out breakfast. Of course, that's when the dragon flew overhead, circled once and crashed opposite them. Sapphire and Calixto stared at the dragon for the briefest of seconds before survival instincts kicked in and both of them flung themselves out of the way before the thing breathed fire at them.

 

One positive side effect of having a hundred ton fire-breathing lizard land in the middle of the camp, it did concentrate the mind wonderfully. Calixto reached for his sword and bow, while Sapphire had already retrieved hers and was frantically hitting the dragon before it could take off. Calixto managed to get in a couple of shots before the thing lashed out at Sapphire, sending her flying backwards in a spray of blood. Then it turned to him.

 

 _We who are about to die salute you_ , the old call of Arena combatants to the Emperor echoed through his mind. The irony of having fled Solitude only to be eaten by a dragon who neither knew nor cared about his crimes did not escape him. There was a certain justice at least.

 

Or at least there was until the dragon was struck by a barrage of fire from its other side and promptly took to the air. There, with a flame Atronach at her side, and lightning blazing from her fingers, was Aranea, resplendent in her necromancer robes and flame-red hair on show for all to see. He'd never been so pleased to see her in his life, and that was counting the previous night. The dragon howled in wrath and began circling, and while the Atronach kept firing fire at it, Aranea ran over to Sapphire and began casting healing magic on her.

 

Calixto wanted to drop everything and run to them both, but the dragon wasn't going anywhere. He reached for the Elven armour instead and pulled it on, having just finished the last buckles when the dragon came for another fly-past.

 

Sapphire staggered to her feet, if not fully healed then a lot healthier than she had been, and began shooting arrows at it. Aranea was raiding the potions supply and downing magicka restorants before recasting her mage armour and sending a few lightning bolts the dragon's way. The beast crashed into the campfire, howling as it left a trench about ten metres long in the ground. Calixto was determined not to let it get away this time, and Sapphire had had the same idea. Attacking from opposite sides, they hit it repeatedly, swords hacking into it while Aranea's magic seared into its flesh. After a few minutes of that, the dragon finally succumbed, breathing its last. As it burned, all three of them watched without a word.

 

“Are you two alright?” Aranea asked finally, still not looking at either of them.

 

“Thanks to you,” said Sapphire. “I think you saved both our lives there.”

 

“We're both astoundingly grateful,” said Calixto, shuffling his feet and looking at the ground. “And, er, we both still think astonishingly highly of you and hold you in the highest amount of respect and esteem.”

 

“But if you'd rather forget last night ever happened, we can do that too,” Sapphire added hastily. “Honestly. Least we can do. We'll never mention anything about it again. We're all friends, right?” She looked up hopefully and saw to her surprise that Aranea was actually smiling. The Dunmer stepped forward and kissed Sapphire on the cheek, before turning and doing the same with a stunned Calixto.

 

“We are,” said Aranea. “Now come on, let's see what's actually salvageable from this mess and then hit the road. Windhelm's a long way and we can't get the carriage back from Solitude after all.” She turned away and began to pick through the detritus of their camp, collecting what was still intact and throwing away what wasn't.

 

Calixto sidled over to Sapphire. “Are we forgiven, do you think?”

 

“I think so, but it's difficult to tell with her. She's not terribly expressive sober.”

 

“Do you think we're likely to get a repeat performance?” Calixto asked, hope not entirely dead. Sapphire shrugged.

 

“I don't know. Maybe. Eventually. When she's had time to think about it. Best off letting her be, I think. Leave it up to her to decide.”

 

“I suppose I can do that,” said Calixto, although he was still watching Aranea rather wistfully. “A man can hope.”

 

“With you all the way there, bro,” Sapphire sighed. Before Aranea could look up and notice that neither of them were doing any work, Sapphire and Calixto set to gathering up their things. This still had the potential to turn into a mess of Daedric proportions... but it also held a great deal of promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week's update is one I nearly skipped over, but then decided to include anyway because it had potential, and I'm SO GLAD I DID. It was fun to write, very funny, has an awful lot of Eola backstory which just came to me as I wrote, and the after-effects are proving most helpful in later chapters too. It's the No One Escapes Cidhna Mine chapter, aka Cicero Does Cidhna (not like that, you pervs). It'll go up next weekend.
> 
> I feel a tad guilty about Esbern, but no one got stabbed, disfigured or maimed, so that's something, right?


	12. No One Escapes Cidhna Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delphine had misgivings about this Forsworn contract... and she was right. In which No One Escapes Cidhna Mine - unless you're Cicero Dragonborn and friends, in which case Cidhna Mine is trying to escape you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably my favourite chapter so far - and to think it nearly didn't make the cut! It's been the most fun thing to write, so I hope you like it. Out of our four Blades Brotherhood heroes appearing here (Cicero, Delphine, Eola, Esbern), there is not one who is not awesome in this.
> 
> Warnings for a rather violent punch-up between Cicero and Borkul the Beast, not to mention Thonar Silver-Blood dying horribly.
> 
> I've given Eola a backstory too! Hope it's reasonably plausible.
> 
> ETA: So anyway I just rewrote the first meeting between Eola and Madanach, and tweaked the rest of his scenes too. The characterisation was just a little off, so I have redone it all. I'm a lot happier with it, he's a lot closer to his N&J incarnation here.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

Eola had stopped dead in the middle of the road, arms folded, not going another step. Behind her, Esbern winced while Cicero promptly and all too conveniently lapsed into a bout of oblivious insanity, dancing on the spot and humming to himself.

 

Delphine sighed. She'd expected this reaction, which is why she'd left it until they were well within the Reach to give Eola her latest assignment.

 

“The Night Mother suggested you specifically,” said Delphine. “Come on, do you think the Forsworn would talk to Cicero or me?”

 

Eola shot a withering glance at Cicero, still determinedly whistling and apparently deaf to the whole conversation. It was with an effort that she restrained herself from telling Delphine where the Night Mother could stick her contract, guessing correctly that Cicero's apparent deafness only went so far.

 

“It's not that!” said Eola. “It's just... Karthspire? Are you sure she said it was that one? Not... not some other Forsworn camp somewhere else? Cause I'm all over any of the others. I can do all the callsigns, everything, and my face fits. But... honestly, you're Breton, you'd pass for one of us, I can teach you all sorts about how to fit in.” Eola smiled hopefully at Delphine. It was in vain.

 

“Why not Karthspire?” Delphine asked. “What's different about that one?” Then realisation dawned. “Talos, that's the one you grew up on, isn't it?” Eola nodded miserably.

 

“Did Eola get thrown out of it like she did the College of Winterhold?” Cicero asked. Eola glared at him and he immediately lapsed into random babbling about spying a singing bird.

 

“No,” snapped Eola, “Eola ran away as soon as she was able to get away from her domineering bitch of a mother who basically gave her a choice between marrying to continue the bloodline or being flung headlong into the pointless bloody war that had already killed her two oldest sisters. The same bitch of a mother that was planning to become a Hagraven and has clearly succeeded, according to the Night Mother, because yes, I know who Mireen the Matriarch is! Delphine, please. Please, anyone but her. I haven't had a conversation with her since I was thirteen that didn't end in a shouting match. And now you want to send me to negotiate a contract with her??”

 

“I can see how that might be a problem...” said Delphine, wondering how on Nirn to get round this. “All right. I'll go, you come with me, Cicero and Esbern can wait outside for us both. I'll do the talking, you can just observe and advise if necessary, how's that?”

 

Eola nodded, staring at her feet. “Guess so, if we have to take this one at all. I'm telling you though, Delphine, I don't like it. Not at all.”

 

“If I may interrupt,” said Esbern. “It's a little more complicated than either of you know. If the camp is in the Karthspire, well, it's a very real possibility that they're occupying Sky Haven Temple. We might need to negotiate for more than just coin.”

 

Delphine turned to Eola. “Is that the case? They're occupying the old Blades temple?” Eola shook her head.

 

“No, the camp's in the valley, all on platforms over the water. Well, most of it is, but Ma was always based in the fortified bit to the east. There's some old ruins off to the west, but they're kinda hidden in the Karthspire itself and no one could ever get in. But if that's Sky Haven Temple... by Namira, that means we can't even get to it without getting past the camp first.” Eola looked devastated at the thought.

 

Delphine remembered her words of before, that they'd cut their way through if they had to. Eola was clearly remembering them too, if the look on her face was anything to go by. Delphine could only sympathise.

 

“Well, maybe that's what we'll ask for then. Access to the ruins, free passage in or out when we need it. Come on, this needn't be a bad thing. Think of it as an opportunity.”

 

“The ancient Akaviri used the same symbol for opportunity that they did for crisis,” Esbern remarked. “The skill is in knowing how to craft one from the other.”

 

“Not helping,” Eola muttered. However, she fell into line and started trudging west again. Delphine sighed with relief, but knew in her heart that this was only the first obstacle of many. She was proved right almost immediately as they descended into the Karth river valley, the Karthspire up ahead... and circling over it, the unmistakable silhouette of a dragon.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Of course, the dragon was on them as soon as they got anywhere near the bridge. Eola and Esbern provided a barrage of magical fire, while Cicero and Delphine had their bows out, shooting at the beast while everyone raced over the Karthspire bridges. Things got a little easier once they reached the higher ground there, and when the dragon landed to get a better go at them, Cicero, Delphine and Eola made short work of it. Finally, it was dead and Cicero was taking its soul. Then Eola nudged Delphine and Esbern.

 

“Forsworn. Whole group of scouts coming this way. Cicero, take Esbern, get him out of here, get under cover. Delphine, katana away, clench your fists, cross your arms and fists on your shoulders like this.”

 

Delphine nodded at Cicero to do as told, and copied Eola's action. “Why are we doing this?” she asked as the Forsworn approached, bows raised and swords at the ready. All Delphine's instincts were screaming at her to fight or run, but Eola was looking, if not happy, then confident at least.

 

“Raised palms mean you're about to cast Destruction magic,” was all the response she got. “This means you come in peace.” Turning away, she stepped forward, leaving Delphine to realise how obvious that was to a tribe of magic users and that maybe a lot of the bad blood between Forsworn and Nords could have been avoided if each had bothered to learn each others' body language.

 

Eola walked slowly forward.

 

“By the might of the old gods, in the name of Sithis,” Eola called. “I come in peace, to seek audience with Mireen, Matriarch of Karthspire. She's expecting us.”

 

The Forsworn halted their advance, clearly not having expected that. Whispered comments passed among them, and the group parted to reveal a war-painted woman with head shaved on each side, about Eola's height and probably not much older than her. Eola had taken one look and frozen.

 

“Eola ap Mireen,” the woman said bitterly. “Finally decided to join the fight, have you? Nine years away from here, and you think you can just walk back in as if nothing's happened??”

 

“Kaie,” said Eola. “Shoulda guessed. You haven't changed a bit.” The way Eola said it, it didn't sound like a compliment.

 

“I could only wish you had,” Kaie snapped back. “Too much to hope you're here to join up? That's if Ma will take you back.”

 

Ah. Much was now clear, in fact under the war paint and the shaved head, Delphine could see the same eye colour and cheekbones. Eola's remaining sister, clearly.

 

“I'm not here on my own behalf,” said Eola, evidently biting back a bitchy retort. “I'm here on behalf of the Night Mother. Mireen's performed the Black Sacrament. Here we are. Delphine here is my... associate.”

 

Delphine smiled in greeting. Kaie merely glanced at her before turning her attention back to Eola.

 

“You? Have joined the Dark Brotherhood?? Old gods, don't make me laugh. They must be in trouble if they've recruited you.”

 

Delphine stepped forward to stand at Eola's side.

 

“Kaie ap Mireen,” said Delphine, hoping she'd got that right. “I'm Delphine, Eola's immediate superior in the Brotherhood. Has your Matriarch truly invoked the Sacrament? If so, we'd appreciate the chance to talk to her. We are the Brotherhood and in the name of Sithis, we have responded to your prayers.”

 

Kaie sheathed her swords and motioned to the others to do likewise. “All right. Come with us. She warned us to expect visitors, although by the old gods, I don't think she expected Eola to be one of them. In you come, but don't try any funny business.”

 

Delphine followed, Eola at her side.

 

“How are we doing?” Delphine's whispered.

 

“Honestly, it could have gone worse,” Eola whispered back. “Just dear old Ma to deal with now. Good luck with that.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

They were led across a cobbled together structure of wooden platforms that spanned the Karth River, Forsworn warriors stopping what they were doing to watch the procession. More than a few were looking at Eola and staring at her open-mouthed. Finally, they were led on to dry land and up the hill to where Mireen's tent was pitched.

 

The Hagraven herself was leaning over an altar, inspecting the corpse of a giant that lay prostrated on it. Delphine had the horrible thought that this Hag had probably killed the giant herself. As they approached, the Hagraven turned around, took one look at Eola and hissed.

 

“So,” she growled, scuttling forward. “The prodigal daughter returns. Are you expecting a celebration? A welcome home party, perhaps?”

 

“I'm here at Sithis' command,” said Eola, looking at her feet. “Nothing more.”

 

That gave Mireen pause. “So you have joined the Brotherhood. Well. That is unexpected. May you serve Sithis better in shrouds than you did in rags. Hard to do worse.” She turned to Delphine, black eyes glittering, and even transformed into a Hagraven, there was still the same set of the jaw, the same determination that Eola had in spades.

 

“So. The Night Mother hears prayers again. That is welcome news. I had heard it otherwise in recent years.”

 

“You heard rightly,” Delphine replied. “But there is a new Listener, and the Night Mother speaks again. Who needs to die, that the Forsworn cannot kill themselves?”

 

“Oh, we can kill him ourselves, believe me,” Mireen cackled. “But this is a job that requires a certain... finesse. A certain subtlety. Planning and strategy. There's a Reachwoman in Markarth called Muiri who we heard did business with you not so long ago. An ex-lover killed, and a Nord in the Stormcloak city dead with another framed for it. Your work?”

 

“Not personally,” said Delphine. “But one of my sisters saw it through, yes.”

 

“Good, good,” Mireen grinned, rubbing her clawed hands together. “Very good. Not just a murder done, but done with cunning and in style. Yes, very good. This will do. Tell me, how much of the history of the Reach do you know?”

 

“I'm not a historian,” said Delphine. “Is there a specific incident you're referring to?”

 

“Quite,” said Mireen, satisfied. “The Great War and the Markarth Incident that followed. You are of an age to know of such things – yes, I see in your eyes you know. You know the Reach was independent for a time, that Madanach the King in Rags ruled the Reach as a separate kingdom while the Nords fought the Elves.”

 

“I had heard that, yes,” said Delphine, deciding now was not a good time to make known her feelings on the rebels who'd undermined the Legion's Nord contingent when the Empire had most needed it.

 

“Madanach was slated for execution when the Nords returned, yes, but it never happened. Thonar Silver-Blood intervened and threw him into Cidhna Mine instead. He's been there ever since, running the rebellion from inside the mine. Much good it has done us. Thonar's been using him as his own personal assassination squad, getting the Forsworn to kill the Silver-Blood's enemies instead of fighting the Nords.” Mireen noticed the surprise on Delphine's face and ignored Eola completely. “I thought that might interest you, Speaker of the Brotherhood. Yes, all these years, rather than pay you in the time-honoured fashion, Thonar's cultivated his own cadre of assassins working for him for free. Would you care to teach him the error of his ways?”

 

“You want Thonar dead,” said Delphine. “Or is it Madanach you want killing?” She heard a sharp intake of breath from Eola, almost a sob but paid it little heed other than to note that she'd probably be better off getting Cicero to do Madanach if it came to that.

 

“Half right,” Mireen laughed. “I want Thonar dead, yes... and I want Madanach freed. I want the King in Rags broken out of Cidhna Mine, Speaker, and then brought here. Can your Brotherhood manage that?”

 

“The Dark Brotherhood does not do jailbreaks-” Delphine started to say, but before she could finish the sentence, Eola had interrupted.

 

“We'll take the job,” said Eola. “On the Night Mother's honour, we'll do it for you.”

 

 _Are you out of your mind??_ Delphine wanted to hiss at her, but now was not the time. Eola had finally raised her eyes and was staring fiercely at Mireen. Delphine didn't know how or what, but there was something personal about this one. She'd never had Eola down as a committed Forsworn loyalist, but what else it was, she had no idea.

 

“You will, will you?” Mireen asked, sceptical. “Eola the coward, who ran from the fight before, now comes home to do her duty at last? Forgive me if I don't entirely trust you.”

 

“You have something we want,” said Eola, narrowing her eyes. “You're guarding the access to the ruins of Sky Haven Temple, high in the Karthspire. We want that Temple as our base. Safe passage in and out, that's what we want. You guarantee us that, we'll kill Thonar and bring Madanach home.”

 

“The Brotherhood as neighbours, is that what you ask of me?” Mireen hissed. “To have Sithis' own hovering over our shoulders, breathing down our necks, just waiting for the Nords to have the same idea regarding the Sacrament I did?”

 

“We'd guarantee all members of this camp immunity from contracts,” said Delphine, hoping the Night Mother wouldn't object to that.

 

“A fair promise, but words are as wind, Speaker,” said Mireen. “Deeds, deeds I'll believe. Very well, you have your agreement, on one condition.”

 

“What is that?” Delphine asked, not liking the way the Hagraven's eyes glinted.

 

“My feckless runaway Eola has already proven she's not to be trusted, and I know you not at all. So here is my condition. Eola goes and does the deed, proves her worthiness. While she does that, you remain here, as our... guest.”

 

Well. There was karma for you. Delphine had no illusions that this arrangement would be anything like the one she'd made with Esbern.

 

“That is not how it's meant to go!” Eola cried. “You perform the Sacrament, we show up and take the contract, we kill target, you pay us! You don't take our people hostage! We're the damn Dark Brotherhood!”

 

“You are two assassins surrounded by armed Forsworn,” said Mireen calmly. “You will do as I bid you if you want to see your Sanctuary again.”

 

“Eola,” said Delphine softly. “Eola, let it go. I'll stay here. You go and take care of Thonar. Don't argue now. She's right, we can't fight them all. Suicide to try.”

 

Eola glared at Mireen, furious. Finally, she spat on the ground.

 

“Fine,” she snapped. “But if any harm comes to Delphine, any harm at all, I will be back with the rest of the Brotherhood, and we will raze this camp to the ground, kin of mine or no. I will kill you myself if my sister Delphine is in anything other than pristine condition when I return with Madanach.”

 

“You'd make yourself a kin-slayer on her account?” Mireen asked, eyebrow raised.

 

“No Mother but the Night Mother,” said Eola. “No sisters but my Dark Sisters. And Delphine... well, you picked the wrong assassin to mess with. Harm her, and you've got yourself a fight on your hands.”

 

“So noted,” said Mireen dryly. She motioned to Kaie. “Daughter, take Eola out of the camp so she can get on with her mission. You others, take the Speaker- no, _Listener's_ weapons off her. She won't be needing them with us to guard her.”

 

Delphine remained impassive as Forsworn stepped forward to remove her steel dagger, dai-katana and bow and arrows, along with all the various poisons Delphine had on her. Eola bit back an angry outburst, more for Delphine's sake than anything else.

 

“I'll be back,” Eola promised. “I promise you, Delphine. They won't hurt you. I'll be back, and if me and Cicero have to take this entire place apart to get you back, we will, I swear it.”

 

“I believe you,” said Delphine, sad smile on her face. “I'll see you soon with the King in Rags in tow – if you can raid the Thalmor Embassy, you can take Cidhna Mine apart. Go, and good luck.”

 

Eola hugged Delphine and kissed her on the cheek. “Old gods keep you, Matriarch Delphine,” she said loudly enough to carry to the guards. Best if they knew just who they had in custody. Kaie seemed unimpressed, but the others fell back just a little from Delphine.

 

“And you, Sister,” said Delphine. If she was afraid, she hid it well. Eola nodded, turned and left, not bothering to wait for Kaie to lead her out. She and Cicero had a job to do.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Esbern sat quietly, watching Cicero. The other man had done as commanded and hauled Esbern behind a rock, into a little hollow that kept them out of sight of the Forsworn camp, but he'd said not a word to him. He'd just sat quietly, curled up and staring into space, occasionally looking up to see if Delphine and Eola were back yet, but said nothing. Not even a hum or whistle. It was worrying, if Esbern was honest.

 

“They will be alright, you know,” he said, to break the silence more than anything else. “They're both very strong individuals, they'll be back soon enough.”

 

“Cicero knows that,” Cicero snapped. “But they are outnumbered and Cicero is not there to guard them. Delphine knows what happened in Bravil, she knows, and still she left her Cicero behind! This will not do, this will not do at all, how can she let her Cicero worry so!”

 

“What happened in Bravil?” Esbern asked, wondering if he could distract Cicero a little. Cicero just glared at him.

 

“A Listener _died_ ,” Cicero growled. “Dearest Andronica died. Cicero was not there, and they died. Cicero was stuck in Cheydinhal and could do nothing. Nothing! Because of orders!” He began rocking on his heels. “Cicero is loyal, Cicero is obedient, but sometimes orders can chafe.”

 

Esbern hoped for his own sake that Cicero would keep to at least some of Delphine's orders. “They are only over the hill, my boy,” said Esbern. “If there is fighting, we'll hear it. And if we do hear it, we can go in and get them.”

 

“How is Cicero meant to go in and get his sisters when he is supposed to be guarding his hostage?” Cicero demanded, tearing at the points on his jester hat.

 

“My dear boy,” said Esbern firmly, reaching out to grab Cicero's arm. “Stop it at once and pay attention. You don't honestly think I'd let you go in alone, do you? Delphine's an old and dear friend. She rescued me, it's the least I could do in return. You will have magic at your back, Dragonborn.”

 

Cicero looked up, eyes still glittering furiously, but calmer than he had been. “Esbern would come too, risk his life for the Listener?”

 

“I'd risk my life for my old friend Delphine,” said Esbern. “The fact that she's also your Listener is immaterial. The world needs you, Dragonborn, and you need her, that's plain for all to see. Yes of course I'd help you rescue her.”

 

Cicero lowered his hands, tilting his head and looking altogether sane and calculating. A smile began to spread across his face.

 

“Cicero thanks you then, most chivalrous Esbern. At this rate, Cicero may even find it in his heart to forgive you.” He did not bother mentioning what for. Esbern felt he could probably guess.

 

Footsteps were heard, the sound of someone approaching, someone who knew they were there and was not bothering to hide. Cicero drew his daggers and peered around the rock to see who it was. A second later, and both blades were sheathed, Cicero breaking cover and running. Esbern followed and saw Eola, on her own, walking up to Cicero, acute misery all over her face. Cicero bounced up to her and hugged her fiercely, before frowning and asking something. Esbern couldn't hear the response, but given the way Eola looked, he knew it wasn't good. Cicero's reaction confirmed it.

 

“They have done what???” he screamed. “To _my_ Listener?? Do they think Cicero will just take this lying down? Cicero shall find this Hagraven, slice her open and leave her for the birds!”

 

Esbern felt his blood chill at the implications. Delphine in trouble? This was worse than he'd thought. He ran over to find out what was happening.

 

“Cicero, don't,” he heard Eola say, her voice wretched. “We made a deal, we have to hold up our end. I told them we'd kill them all if she was hurt, she'll be looked after.”

 

“Slaughtering them all will not help if the sweetest, dearest Listener is already dead!” Cicero howled. “Oh Delphine, Delphine, Cicero knew this would happen if he let you out of his sight, why did you leave your Keeper behind, whyyyyyy?????” He was tearing at his hat again, all reason gone from him. Esbern turned to Eola, hoping she could shed some light on the matter.

 

“Eola dear, could you tell me exactly what's going on? Cicero's reaction is not reassuring me in the slightest.”

 

“They took her hostage, as surety for me fulfilling the contract,” said Eola, a picture of abject misery. “If I screw up or don't come back... Namira knows what they'll do to her.”

 

“I see,” said Esbern. “So in order to get Delphine returned to us safely, and presumably get safe passage through to Sky Haven Temple, we need to kill whoever they want dead, is that it? Dear Talos, Eola, I hope this is someone the world won't miss.”

 

“Esbern need not trouble his conscience,” said Cicero, having calmed down enough to listen to what they needed to do. “Cicero will take care of this business, and then we shall all go and retrieve sweet Delphine together.”

 

“It's more than that,” Eola sighed. “If it was just a kill, I'd be all over it. Thing is, she wants a Forsworn prisoner breaking out of jail too.”

 

“A trifling matter,” Cicero shrugged. “Cicero shall kill all the guards, open all the doors, let everyone out and in the chaos, Eola can retrieve the one this Mireen wants.”

 

“It's not that simple,” Eola sighed. “Cicero, the guy's in Cidhna Mine! Highest security prison in Skyrim! It's the silver mine under Markarth, we'd need to fight our way out of the entire city in the process! None of us are thieves, we can't just break in. Someone would notice. Oh, and our target? Thonar Silver-Blood, head of Markarth's leading family. Not exactly a low-profile target, is he? Honestly, forget breaking in – we'd be better off just murdering him in public, turning ourselves in, and organising a mass jailbreak from inside.”

 

“Ooh!” Cicero squealed. “Good plan, Cicero likes that one! See, Eola, you're almost as good as Delphine at this sort of thing.”

 

Eola could only groan, head in her hands. Esbern was looking thoughtful.

 

“This Thonar Silver-Blood. I assume the Forsworn want him dead for a reason?”

 

“He took their leader, Madanach, prisoner,” said Eola. “That's who Mireen wants freed, by the way. Thonar's been using him to make use of Forsworn agents to have people killed.”

 

“What???” Cicero practically exploded with fury. “He has been using the Forsworn to rid him of his enemies? But... but... _that's our job!!!_ ”

 

“I know, right?” Eola cried. “Cheating bastard's been at this for twenty years, can you believe it? Twenty years! Think of all the kills, all the coin the Brotherhood could have been taking in if Thonar Silver-Blood had gone about things the right way and performed the Black Sacrament like everyone else!”

 

“If Cicero had known about this earlier, he would have brought Mother to Markarth and offered his own services years ago!” Cicero seethed. “Oh sister, gutting this man will be a positive pleasure, I assure you!”

 

Esbern decided that now really wasn't the time to give either one of them a lecture on ethics. In fact, he was having a hard time arguing for the sanctity of life in this case himself.

 

“Well, if that's the plan, I suppose we had better get on and get ourselves arrested then,” he sighed. Both Cicero and Eola turned to look, stunned.

 

“We?” Eola queried. Esbern nodded.

 

“You can hardly leave your hostage unattended now, can you? What if I decided to run away, or something happened to me? Delphine wouldn't be pleased to hear you'd lost me. And you can hardly leave me alone in Markarth either, there's Thalmor active there.”

 

“He has a point,” said Eola. “I suppose you could stay here and guard him...”

 

“Eola is not going in on her own!” Cicero snapped. “Cicero cannot let his dear sister go to Cidhna Mine and kill cheating Thonar without him. Why should Eola have all the fun? Eola could stay with Esbern.”

 

“No,” said Eola firmly. “This is my people we're talking about, however estranged. I am going to get Madanach. End of.”

 

“In that case, I cannot see that either of you have much option,” said Esbern. “You're both insistent on going, rightly so I might add. You cannot leave me, and you have no one to escort me back to Riverwood. I see no other choices. You will have to take me with you, get me arrested with you, and we all go to Cidhna Mine together. Neither of you will have weapons in there, I think you will find another magic-user to be helpful.”

 

Neither Cicero nor Eola could rightly disagree with that.

 

“Delphine's gonna be livid when she finds out we're taking you on a job,” Eola sighed.

 

“Delphine is a prisoner in a Forsworn camp,” Esbern pointed out. “There's not a lot she can do about it. Now come on, we have a pillar of society to murder. No time to waste!”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Thonar Silver-Blood looked up as the door to his room swung open.

 

“What is Rhiada thinking, I told her no visitors...” His voice trailed off as a Reachwoman in scaled armour came swaggering in. Behind her came in an old man in a shabby tunic, humming calmly to himself and a short man in a full jester's outfit. He'd have mocked at how ridiculous it looked but one look at the man's eyes and the laughter died in his throat. This man's smile could chill magma and send trolls running for their mothers. The old man closed the door and stood with his back to it, arms folded and a sad, pitying look on his face.

 

“Who in Oblivion are you?” Thonar asked, reaching for his dagger. The jester danced over to him and before Thonar could react, had him in a headlock, ebony dagger to his throat. The Reachwoman took the seat opposite, smiling calmly as if this sort of thing was entirely normal.

 

“Hello Thonar,” she said casually. “My name's Eola and my friend there with his blade at your throat is Cicero. We're here about your little arrangement with Madanach. We hear you've been using him and the Forsworn to have your enemies killed.”

 

“What's it to you if I have?” Thonar hissed. “Release me at once before I call the guards!”

 

“It's quite significant to our interests,” said Eola. “Twenty years of contract killing, usual market rate around 1000 septims per kill, I'd say that's quite a lot of cash you've saved by having your own assassination ring. Don't you think, Cicero?”

 

“Naughty, naughty Thonar!” Cicero tutted. “All those murders. Silver-Blood has blood on his hands!”

 

“This is insane. Who are you people?” Thonar demanded. Eola leaned forward, predatory smile on her face.

 

“We're the ones who all that money should have been going to, Thonar. We're the Dark Brotherhood.”

 

Thonar's composure finally broke as he realised why they were here. “Oh gods, oh gods, sweet Talos, Mara and Kyne, please don't kill me, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'll pay you every septim I owe, I promise, I'll even have Madanach killed, just please let me go!”

 

Eola's smile faded at the mention of Madanach's name. “Too late, Thonar. The Sacrament's been performed and Sithis is owed a death. And by the old gods, I swear you won't harm a hair on the King in Rags' head.”

 

Thonar stared at her, and then his eyes widened, as if he'd met her before. “By the Nine,” he whispered. “I know you, you're-”

 

“Kill him,” said Eola softly. Cicero didn't hesitate. Before Thonar could utter another word, Cicero had drawn his dagger across Thonar's throat, blood spraying everywhere. Thonar gurgled his last and collapsed on the table, dead. Eola licked her fingers and began wiping the blood off her face. Cicero meanwhile cleaned his dagger on Thonar's clothes, frowning.

 

“His blood isn't silver at all,” he said. “It's red, like everyone else's. Cicero is most disappointed.”

 

Eola glanced up to where Esbern was standing, looking at the floor, resigned but not liking it.

 

“Hey, you alright, old man?”

 

Esbern nodded sadly. “I think so, but I confess seeing you two at work is, well, disturbing.”

 

“Everyone says that,” said Cicero. “I don't know why. It's not like we're bad at our jobs or anything.”

 

“I think that's rather the point,” said Esbern with a sigh. “Come on, I suppose we had better get ourselves arrested.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The Markarth city guards had seen a great many things in their time, but when a leading member of the city's most powerful family gets murdered, the last thing they would expect would be for the murderers to simply turn themselves in, two of them still covered in the blood, insisting that they be arrested and sent to Cidhna Mine immediately. And yet that's what happened.

 

“Yes, yes, I masterminded the whole thing, you know,” said the old man who had given his name as Ulfric Once-Bladed. “I insist you arrest me at once. My conscience cannot live with the guilt.”

 

“Arrest me!” the blood-covered jester who had identified himself as Morio Sicarius had howled. “I have murdered! Stabbed! Slaughtered! Disembowelled and eviscerated my way from Dawnstar to Kvatch and everywhere in between! And I regret nothing, do you hear me! Nothing! Send me to prison, for I have been a very very bad boy indeed.” Funnily enough, the guards had no trouble believing him.

 

The Reachwoman who insisted she was called Maven was another story altogether. “Yeah, so I've got a Nord name, so what? My ma was a High Rock Breton with no sense of history who thought the name was pretty, that's all. Gods, all the time I get asked the same damn thing, all the time. Come on, I got Thonar's blood all over me, you going to arrest me or what? Who else have I got to kill to end up in Cidhna Mine, the damn Jarl??” The guards did have to agree she was covered in blood, and Rhiada the Treasury House receptionist was adamant the three of them had gone in to see Thonar Silver-Blood just minutes before he was killed, so without the niceties of a trial, seeing as all three were quite willing to sign confessions, the murderers were thrown into Cidhna Mine.

 

“Well, that worked,” said Esbern, as the gate locked behind them. “Now what?”

 

“Yes, now what?” Cicero asked, looking a bit forlorn in his prison garb. “What did dear Eola have in mind?”

 

“What, I'm Cunning Plan Lady now?” Eola demanded. Both men nodded, Cicero going so far as to sidle up to her and rest his head on her shoulder, looking up at her expectantly. Eola backed away uncomfortably. “Sweet Namira, don't tell me you've imprinted on any blonde Breton woman who can manage to sound a bit authoritative.”

 

“Certainly not,” said Cicero, sounding a bit insulted and backing away in turn. “It's just this was your idea, Cicero is wondering what to do next. Cicero is not good at giving orders and making decisions, you know that. Also Cicero does not have his hat. Bad things happen when Cicero's hat is taken from him. Sweet Eola should probably devise some entertainment before Cicero decides to create his own fun...”

 

“Should we not be thinking of ways to contact Madanach and persuade him to come with us?” said Esbern with a sigh. Really, he was beginning to wonder how on Nirn Delphine coped with these two on a daily basis without taking to drink.

 

“Absolutely right,” said Eola, pulling herself together. “Er... any ideas on how?”

 

“Try asking someone,” said Esbern, wondering how Delphine coped with these two without turning to Skooma. “And before you ask, I don't know who. Pick anyone, if he's really running the Forsworn's entire operation from in here, they'll all know who he is.”

 

“Alright,” said Eola, sauntering over to talk to a prisoner sitting by the fire, who'd been watching them closely. “Hey there. We want an audience with the King in Rags. Where's he hiding?”

 

“And who might you be?” the prisoner asked suspiciously. “The King in Rags is choosy about who he sees.”

 

“We're the ones who murdered Thonar Silver-Blood,” said Eola. “And if I don't get a straight answer now, my friend over there is going to get bored and start making his own entertainment. You don't want him to start making his own entertainment. Not with all these pick-axes around.”

 

“A pick-axe?” the prisoner scoffed. “Please. People tend to see that coming.”

 

Eola just smiled. “Trust me, this guy will not care.” Cicero had already picked one up and was swinging it experimentally, going through a few moves while Esbern had seated himself in a corner and watched, the very appearance of outer calm.

 

“And if the jailbird picks a fight, why then I'll set his clothes alight!” Cicero chanted. The prisoner blinked and turned back to Eola.

 

“All right, if you insist. But you might want to warn your friend there that if it gets out he's a violent one, the others might see that as... a challenge.”

 

“You say that like it'll discourage him,” said Eola. “Now, you were going to tell me how to find Madanach.”

 

“Yes, yes. Through that gate. But in order to get through it, you must first get past Borkul the Beast.” He indicated the well over six foot tall Orc guarding the gate. “And you don't want to talk to Borkul the Beast. They say he once beat a man to death with his own arm. He's old-fashioned that way.”

 

Eola appraised the Orc, before turning to Cicero. “Hey, Champ, put that thing down and get over here. What's the most violent thing you've ever done with your bare hands?”

 

Cicero put the pick-axe down, genuinely stumped by this one. “Eola is asking Cicero a very open-ended question there. Cicero has done a great many violent things in his time, picking one could take some time.”

 

“Well, just pick the first one you can remember,” said Eola. _Come on, I refuse to believe you never went psycho on someone and beat them into bloody mush. Don't fail me now, Cicero._ She was not to be disappointed.

 

“Hmm. Well, Cicero did once try and strangle someone with their own intestines. Not recommended, they're too slimy to get a proper purchase and they have a tendency to rupture. Messy business, that. Never again. Honestly, many times back in Cyrodiil we'd joke about things like tearing people to shreds with our bare hands, wearing ribcages as hats, ripping limbs off and beating people to death with them, but really, it's all rather inefficient. Take the limb removal – even if you have the strength to do it, limbs make terrible clubs. The victim will bleed to death before you're even remotely done hitting them. Most unfortunate. No, if you're weaponless and need to kill someone, get them in a choke-hold and twist their head so the neck breaks. Takes a bit of strength, but Cicero has done it before now.”

 

“Dear gods,” the prisoner muttered, getting up and staggering away. “I've, er, got to go and mine some silver. Elsewhere. Where he isn't. With several other people around.” He rushed off into one of the tunnels.

 

“Oh dear,” said Esbern. “I do rather fear for the mental wellbeing of our fellow prisoners. Do try and be nice, won't you?”

 

“We are being nice!” Eola grinned. “Trust me, they'd know if we weren't.”

 

Esbern just sighed and returned to his meditation. Of all the situations he'd thought he might need it for, he'd not imagined this would be one of them.

 

Eola, deciding not to waste time, walked up to Borkul the Beast without batting an eyelid. “Hey, you're Borkul, right? Here to see Madanach. Fancy letting me in?”

 

“Move on, little girl,” Borkul growled. “No one sees Madanach. Not without paying the toll.”

 

“And what's the toll?” Eola asked.

 

“A shiv. In case I fancy doing some 'shaving'.” The big Orc laughed at his own pun. Eola, who heard better from Cicero on a daily basis, just sighed.

 

“Well, I don't have one. You can let me in anyway or things might get a little awkward.”

 

“Yeah?” Borkul rolled his eyes. “Well, you can pay the toll or beat it. There's awkward for you.”

 

“Pity that,” Eola sighed. “I was really kinda hoping to avoid a fight.”

 

Borkul burst out laughing and stayed that way for a good minute, slapping his thigh, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Oh gods, that's a good one,” he roared. “Little thing like you's going to beat me up. Malacath, that's funny. Know any more like that?”

 

Eola smiled her sweetest smile. “Oh honey. Of course I'm not going to beat you up.” She beckoned Cicero over. “He is.” She stepped back to make way for Cicero, who strode up, hands on his hips, head tilted and a broad grin on his face. Borkul's laughter faded as the sight of Cicero unnerved even him. He couldn't say what it was about the short Imperial that actually was so threatening, but something in the smile spoke of darkness and nightmares and blood and death. Borkul firmly shoved such fears to the back of his mind. What could a little man like that possibly do to him anyway?

 

Eola watched from next to Esbern. It was an interesting fight, she had to give him that. Cicero had started by simply poking the big Orc in the stomach and saying “Boo”. Borkul had drawn back his fist to strike – only to hit thin air. Cicero had darted across the room singing “Orc and Jester in a fight, only one will win tonight! When Orc and Jester fight a duel, Orc will find that madness rules!” Borkul, enraged, had charged after him, but every time he'd tried to hit Cicero, Cicero had contrived to somehow not be there. This went on for some time, by which point an audience had started to congregate, drawn by the sound of some lunatic actually daring to challenge Borkul the Beast to a brawl and in some cases, stories from the prisoner Uraccen who'd been the first to meet them that one of the new lifers was not just violent but insane and terrifying with it. Right now, they were being treated to a short man with hair the colour of blood dancing around the room utterly failing to get punched by Borkul.

 

“Ha ha ha, hee hee hee, slow old tusk-face can't catch meee!” Cicero sang, capering merrily, always just out of reach.

 

“Come... here... you puny little... weakling!” Borkul roared, gasping for breath. He lunged at Cicero one last time. Cicero darted out of the way, and then the next thing Borkul knew, someone had pounced, leaping on to his back, grabbing him around the throat and with the fingers of the other hand burrowing very forcefully into one eye. Borkul howled in pain, desperately trying to fling Cicero off but only succeeding in making Cicero dig his nails in harder to both eyesocket and neck. Then Cicero proceeded to bite into Borkul's ear, almost ripping the corner off, at the same time as he drew a fingernail across Borkul's forehead, digging in savagely enough to draw blood that trickled down into Borkul's good eye.

 

“This is barbaric,” Esbern said softly, unable to tear his eyes away.

 

“Isn't it?” said Eola, her mouth still watering from when Cicero had sunk his teeth into the Orc's ear.

 

Borkul, now completely unable to see, fell to one knee, trying to throw Cicero off. Cicero obligingly slipped off but did not release the hold. Instead he delivered several punches to Borkul's face, disorienting the Orc completely, lessened his grip just enough for Borkul to stagger to his feet, before grabbing the Orc and running with him straight at the wall. Borkul's face collided with it with a sickening crunch, as the tip of one tusk broke off completely. Cicero repeated the move, ramming Borkul into the wall until the Orc gave in, sobbing for mercy.

 

“You win, you win, I'm sorry!” Borkul wept. “Take the key, please, just leave me alone!” He threw the key to Madanach's door on the floor. Cicero promptly let the battered and bruised Orc go, pouncing on the key and skipping over to Eola, presenting it to her with a bow and a flourish.

 

“For you, my dear,” he said very formally.

 

“Thank you, sweetie,” said Eola, beaming. “See, Esbern? Told you he could do it. You want anything taken down, beat up, pulverised, bludgeoned, or otherwise shown the error of their ways? Cicero here is your guy.”

 

Cicero sank to the floor, taking a seat next to Esbern, flushed with pride. “Eola speaks too highly. Normally Cicero is a little more subtle than that. But needs must.”

 

“Frankly, I'm appalled,” said Esbern. “That was the most ferociously brutal thing I have seen in many years.” He settled himself back into his cross-legged position, a smile beginning to creep across his face. “However, I do think I understand Delphine perfectly now. Alduin isn't going to know what hit him.”

 

Leaving the two men behind her, Eola had gone over to the door to Madanach's room, unlocking it. She cast one last glance around the room, silent apart from Borkul's whimpering and Cicero humming to himself. From the way the other prisoners were slinking off, all shooting terrified glances Cicero's way, Eola was reassured that no one would be trying anything with either Cicero or Esbern any time soon. All the same, if they had to spend the night, it might be worth having someone on watch at all times, just in case. Which meant that it was time to get on with it. Time to meet Madanach.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Madanach's room was at the other end of a long winding tunnel, clearly hewn out by the prisoners themselves. It wasn't badly outfitted either – proper bed, chest, writing table. Clearly Thonar had believed in treating his pet assassin-master well.

 

“Thought I told Borkul no visitors,” Madanach growled, not looking up from the letter he was writing. Eola felt her heart skip a beat as old memories of being a little girl and being swung around through the air playing dragons resurfaced. He might be grey haired rather than blond these days, but other than that, he'd not changed an awful lot. Yes, she remembered. But after twenty years, would he remember her?

 

“Madanach,” she said softly, hearing her voice catch on his name. “Madanach, I've got a message. From Mireen.”

 

That stopped him. He lowered his quill, still not looking up. “From Mireen? It's been a while since I heard from her. Thought she'd given up on me. So what's the old girl want, eh?”

 

“You,” said Eola. “She wants you out of Cidhna Mine and back with her at Karthspire. The Forsworn need their king and the Queen in Rags is calling you home. Will you come?”

 

Slowly, Madanach lifted his head up to look at her, confused. He took her in, running his eyes over her and finally coming to rest on her face. Her face, with its good eye the same colour as his, and hair the same shade of blonde his had been once.

 

“Who are you?” he whispered, his voice hollow. “Who has Mireen sent into Cidhna Mine to get me? I know all the prisoners, the only ones I don't know are the three new ones who did for old Thonar, but the woman's called Maven...”

 

Eola could have cried, but she settled for laughing. “You think I'd be so stupid as to tell them my real name? Come on, Mireen might have turned herself into a Hagraven, but she didn't raise her no fool.”

 

Madanach let go of the quill he'd been toying with, eyes giving nothing away as he got to his feet.

 

“All right,” he said quietly. “You have precisely thirty seconds to tell me just who in the Void you are or get out of my cell before I start testing fire spells on you. Give me your name, girl. Your real name!”

 

Eola closed her eyes, panicking a little. She had nothing but fond memories of him, and up until now those memories had been all she'd had. Now she was face to face with him again, and she was belatedly beginning to remember that Madanach ap Caradach, King in Rags, was a very dangerous man who'd been a feared spellcaster back in the day.

 

“Eola,” she cried, closing her eyes, not daring to look at him. “Eola ap Madanach!”

 

Silence. Eola held her breath, wondering if she'd done the right thing, if he'd even believe her.

 

When she found her prison rags grabbed and her back making contact with the wall at speed, she had her answer.

 

“Please,” she gasped, eyes shut, unable to face his anger. “Please, it really is me, please!”

 

No response. Just light from a magelight on her face, cast silently like she knew he could do, then a finger under her chin, tilting her face up, turning her face this way and that.

 

“Could be,” Madanach murmured. “You're the right age and you do look like Eithne. But surely not, not after all this time...” He let her go, withdrawing and Eola finally dare to look at him. He didn't look angry any more, just confused, brow furrowed.

 

“Why? No, never mind, let's find out if it is you first. If you're really Eola, you'll know what happened the last time we were together. What happened that last afternoon.”

 

Of course she knew. The last day they'd spent together, in the summer sunshine at Karthspire before he'd had to leave the next day. One last treasured memory of her father, who no one else had ever come close to.

 

“You were teaching me Destruction magic,” Eola whispered. “Showing me how fire magic worked. Even though Ma thought I was too young.”

 

Faint smile on Madanach's face as he nodded. “Go on. What then?”

 

“You taught me the Flames spell,” Eola said fondly, the memory as clear as if it was yesterday. “I was practising it and you were so pleased. You said if I kept that up I'd be as good a Forsworn warrior as you one day.”

 

“I might have done, yes,” Madanach said, and he was definitely smiling now, no doubt about it. “And then?”

 

“I was still playing with it and... I, er, might have set fire to a tent,” Eola admitted, still blushing at the memory of seeing a tent go up in flames and the momentary squeak of pride followed by dawning horror as she realised how much trouble she was in, particularly as Madanach wasn't supposed to even have been teaching her fire magic yet.

 

Actual laughter from Madanach at that point as he nodded, motioning for her to go on.

 

“Then you saw and freaked out and had to put it out using Ice Storm,” Eola said, recalling the next set of events with a lump in her throat as hindsight made her realise just what she'd cost her father. “And half the camp came running, including Ma who was livid, wanting to know just what had happened and she went straight for me, demanding to know if I'd been playing with fire. I didn't know what to do, I was terrified and five years old, but you just put an arm around me and told her not to blame me, it was entirely your fault, you'd been showing off your Destruction magic again and a fireball had gone astray. And... and she believed it. She just glared at you and said “I might have known” and then she snapped out at a few people to sort the mess out and stalked off. And... and I just hugged you and whispered thank you, and you hugged me back and told me not to worry, just to be more careful next time. Da... Da, she must have been angry with you, were you all right?” Eola didn't really want to bring up memories of muffled thuds from her parents' tent at night or marks her father always refused to talk about, or memories of him creeping out sometimes, quietly casting Restoration spells or reaching for a healing potion, wincing as he did so from injuries he'd definitely not had earlier.

 

Madanach had his arms folded, shoulders hunched, eyes shadowed.

 

“It was better that than the alternative,” he said softly, looking away. “By the gods, it is you, isn't it? You still remember me.”

 

It was the hope in his voice, the sheer emotion, that did her in.

 

“How was I supposed to forget you?” Eola gasped, tears starting to well up in her eyes. “You meant the world to me! I loved you so much... and then they said you were gone. I didn't think I'd ever see you again, but I never forgot.”

 

“Cariad,” Madanach breathed, using the usual Forsworn term for close loved ones. “Don't.” He stepped forward, then he was there, right there, arms around her, rough prison rags scratchy against her face but Eola didn't care. He was her father, her fierce, brave, battlemage father, who'd loved her, doted on her, cared for her – and then he'd been gone for good. She'd mourned him horribly, especially as her mother took her frustration out on her. She didn't think she'd ever get her father back ever again, she'd just shut the memories away. And now here he was, larger than life, even prison not dampening his spirit. She was crying, sobbing her heart out on his shoulder and she didn't even care, she'd missed him so much, and joy of joys, he remembered. He knew who she was and he loved her back.

 

“It's all right,” he whispered. “It's all right, I've got you, you're safe, it's going to be all right, I'll take care of you, you came home, oh cariad, you came home!”

 

Eola nodded, clinging on to him, not even able to speak. The reason she'd taken this contract, the looming shadow over her entire life, the wound that never healed, the one source of love in a loveless childhood that had been ripped away and he was back. She had him back. At long last, she had her father back, and she was never going to let her mother's malice or the Nords' best efforts take him from her again.

 

“I missed you,” she sobbed into his chest. “I missed you so much!”

 

“I know, oh gods, I know, I missed you too, I'm so sorry, Eola m'inyeen, I missed your entire childhood. Can you ever forgive me?”

 

Eola nodded tearfully. Of course she could. She'd forgive him anything. It wasn't his fault he'd got caught eventually.

 

“Can you forgive me?” she whispered back. “For... for not being a Forsworn? For running away?”

 

She felt his arms tighten and relief flooded her heart as she realised the answer was an unqualified yes.

 

“Cariad, you weren't even a full adult. After what the war did to your sisters, I don't blame you. Gods, you even saw them kill Amaleen. You weren't even nine years old, were you?”

 

“Eight,” Eola whispered. “Eight and a half.”

 

“Eight and a...” Madanach was clutching on to her as if she'd break. She risked a glance up and saw the old fierceness returning. “Sithis take them, Eola. Sithis take them all.” He let her go, forcing a smile to his face.

 

“It doesn't matter now,” he said softly, leading her to the bed so they could sit down. “None of it matters. You're still alive, we both are, you're here, you came back to me at last. Gods, Eola, when they told me you'd run away... I was going out of my mind, I didn't even know if you were still alive. What happened, where did you go? What happened to your eye?”

 

“Went all over the place,” Eola whispered, perching on the bed next to him, not resisting as he pulled her into his arms again. “Hammerfell first, then High Rock, studied at Winterhold for a bit – that was how I lost the eye, there was this summoning experiment went wrong, we were trying to conjure a Dremora except it got out of control and killed the others – don't think I'd have survived if I'd not been Forsworn.”

 

“You must be the only child of mine who could say that,” Madanach said bitterly. “Being Forsworn is what killed your sisters. Still might take Kaie yet. And you – you were better off away from all this, Eola. Why'd you come back? You've seen Mireen again? And did you really kill Thonar Silver-Blood?”

 

Eola grinned, drying her eyes. “Oh yes. We slaughtered the bastard and left him drowning in his own blood. You should have seen it, we were on fire. Wasn't actually me who struck the killing blow, it was Cicero who did that. But I got to terrify the guy and have him pleading for mercy, so it's all good.”

 

Madanach threw back his head, howling with laughter. “That's my girl! Sithis, I can't believe I thought you were an impostor, you're an ap Madanach all right. Oh cariad, welcome back. You've made an old man very proud.”

 

“You're not that old!” Eola pointed out. If maths and memory served her well, he was only four years older than Delphine.

 

“I feel it,” Madanach grimaced. “So anyway, who are these friends of yours? This Cicero and this other fellow, some Nord you're working for? Cariad, why are we involving outsiders now? And you still didn't tell me what you're actually doing down here.”

 

Ah. Here came the tricky part. No help for it, he wouldn't be pleased, but she wasn't lying to her father, not over this. He deserved the truth, and it wasn't like he had a lot of moral high ground from which to judge her.

 

“It's a Dark Brotherhood contract,” Eola sighed. “Not against you, don't worry. But Ma wanted you out of prison, so she did the Sacrament for Thonar and made us jailbreak you. Don't think she was expecting me to show up though.”

 

Not a lot ever really shocked Madanach, but that had managed it.

 

“The Dark Brotherhood. You. Are in the Dark Brotherhood. By the gods, you're serious, aren't you? My Eola, in the Dark Brotherhood. By all the gods, by the Dread Father himself, that's...”

 

“You don't approve, do you?” Eola sighed, feeling her heart sink. _Of course he doesn't approve, what parent would?_

 

“I didn't say that,” said Madanach softly. “It's a sacred calling, you know that as well as I do. An honour, in fact. I'm just not sure I like the idea of my little princess turning into, well, me.”

 

“I don't think the whole inheritance thing works like that, Da,” said Eola. “And if I had to choose, rather you than Ma.”

 

“Now that I can agree with,” Madanach growled. “So she sent you to get me, after two damn decades, two dead children and you running away because of her. I'm not sure what she expects from me after all this time. Ascension breaks the ties of marriage – by Forsworn law, we're not married any more. But I'm thinking I should probably come. She is a Matriarch after all, always pays to keep the Hags sweet. The Dark Brotherhood finally came at long last, and they killed Thonar for me and it's my own daughter wielding the blade. That's a sign from the old gods. So, m'inyeen, how exactly were you going to jailbreak me? And have you given any thought to how we're all going to get supplied and equipped? I consider myself a competent battlemage, but prison rags are a bit of a give away, and honestly I'd like something a little better than a shiv in my hands when I get out of here.”

 

So caught up had she been at the idea of seeing her father again, Eola hadn't really given a lot of thought to the actual jailbreak.

 

“Er... we're still working on the details,” she confessed. Madanach rolled his eyes.

 

“You hadn't got a damn clue, had you,” he said, grinning. Eola felt a little hurt by this even if it was true.

 

“That's not true! We were going to wait until the guards opened the door and then Cicero was going to jump them, start a mass fight, open all the doors and we'd get away with you in the chaos.”

 

“That's not actually a bad plan, even if it does involve an awful lot of risk,” Madanach murmured. “You'd be throwing the lives of your fellow prisoners away though, and they're good men. I'd hate to lose them – most of them anyway. Fortunately for you, your old da is a very bright man and has been putting his mind to this task for a very long time. What, you think I was going to stay here forever? I've been biding my time, waiting for Thonar to lower his guard. Of course, you and your friends took care of that!” Laughter, and Eola realised that Madanach could probably have jailbroken himself any time he felt like it.

 

“Wait, you've had an escape plan all this time??” Eola demanded. “Why in the Void didn't you use it? Thonar's not that paranoid, surely!”

 

Madanach did have the grace to look a little guilty at this. “Didn't want to have to face Mireen again after Eithne died,” he admitted. “After that, well, I just didn't want to see her again at all. Not looking forward to it now, if I'm honest. But you'll be there, right? You won't let any harm come to your old da?”

 

Now that was an entirely understandable reason for staying in prison all that time. Eola smiled and kissed his cheek.

 

“Never,” Eola promised. “She tries anything, she's toast.”

 

Madanach laughed, squeezing her hand. “Then what are we waiting for? Of course I'm coming with you, cariad. Just needed a reason to leave.”

 

Eola could cry, but she settled for hugging him tight. She had her father back, her beloved, terrifying, cunning and ruthless father. She just hoped Delphine and Cicero didn't mind. She had a feeling he'd get on with them. She hoped so anyway. Cicero would be easy enough to win over, all Madanach would have to do was talk about his active Forsworn fighting days and Cicero would be his friend for life. Delphine would be a harder nut to crack, but she'd surely see the benefit of having the Forsworn at her back, right? Besides, Delphine and her father weren't dissimilar personality-wise. She had a feeling they'd at least respect each other as long as no one mentioned Talos.

 

“Of course,” Madanach murmured, “there is one loose end that needs tying up.”

 

“Loose end?” Eola raised an eyebrow. “What sort of loose end? Would this be the sort of loose end in dire need of being stabbed and left to bleed?

 

“Don't leave him to bleed, make sure the bastard's dead,” said Madanach grimly, and Eola was once again reminded why she loved her father so very much. Delphine was definitely going to like him.

 

“Just tell me his name and I promise you he'll never bother you again,” Eola purred. “I'm very good at my job, you know.”

 

“I don't doubt it,” Madanach grinned, leaning back on his bed as he watched her leave. “Name's Grisvar the Unlucky. He's in the pay of the Silver-Bloods, keeping an eye on us. He's outlived his usefulness, and he never had a lot of that to start with. Go on, cariad, make me proud.”

 

Eola skipped out of the cell, feeling a weight fall off her shoulders. She had no idea this would all be so easy.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Outwardly, Esbern had not stopped smiling as if nothing was troubling him. Inwardly, he was starting to get nervous. Eola had been gone some time – rather too long if Esbern was any guess. Cicero, tired from the fight with Borkul, had curled up with his head in Esbern's lap and was now dozing peacefully, the very picture of innocence. It was all very lovely to behold, but Esbern wasn't blind to the fact that he was an old man in a prison full of hardened criminals, and with Eola gone and Cicero asleep, this left him essentially alone and vulnerable. He wasn't sure he liked the way some of the others were looking at him.

 

The gate to Madanach's room finally swung open, and Eola emerged. He could see the tracks of tears in the dirt on her face, and her eyes looked red, but despite that there was something about her that hadn't been there before. A new sense of purpose and a lightness to her step that told of some old wound no longer troubling her.

 

He nudged Cicero awake. The younger man sat bolt upright in a second, eyes darting around the room. Seeing Eola, he sprang up, did a forward roll and was standing before her.

 

“Well?” he asked. “Has Madanach the devious decided to accompany us? Eola? Eola?” Even Cicero could hardly fail to notice she'd been crying, and his voice softened. “Has sweet Eola been crying? Was nasty Madanach harsh with her? Does she wish her dear brother to go in there and let him know what he thinks of people who are cruel to his sister? Yes, we need to bring him to filthy Hagraven Mireen to free sweetest Delphine, but it was never specified how many pieces he needs to be in.”

 

It was a measure of Eola's mood that she didn't immediately smack Cicero for threatening Madanach. Instead she just smiled.

 

“He said yes, Cicero. I'm not crying because I'm sad, I'm crying because I'm happy. Really happy!” Next thing Cicero knew, she was hugging him, head resting on his shoulder. “But thank you. You're the sweetest little murderer I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.” She kissed him on the cheek and let him go, leaving Cicero rubbing his face and looking completely confused. “Now, you boys look after yourselves. I have some business to take care of, and then we're all going home.” Setting off for one of the tunnels, she left them to it. Cicero turned to Esbern, utterly bewildered.

 

“Esbern, do you have any idea what dear Eola is on about?” he asked, scratching his head. Esbern shook his head.

 

“I cannot imagine, but I can only assume it is good news. Well, for us at least, I think it quite likely someone else is about to get a very nasty surprise.” He was not wrong. Eola's voice echoed out, asking if anyone had seen a Grisvar the Unlucky. Someone else pointed him out.

 

“So you're Grisvar, huh? Bad news, sweetcheeks. You're not just unlucky, you're downright cursed.” There then came the roar of flames, agonised screaming and the distinct smell of burnt flesh. Seconds later, Eola came back as if nothing untoward had occurred.

 

“Hey Cicero. Got you some blades! Here you go, get armed.” She presented him with two sharpened pieces of metal with leather strips round the thick end. Cicero squealed with delight and took them off her, trying a few moves with them.

 

“Sister Eola is too kind,” he purred. “They are not Cicero's first choice and not as good as his daggers, no. But they will do. What is Eola's next move?”

 

Eola had already gone, skipping down the passage way to Madanach's room. It was a minute or so later before she returned, this time with a white-haired Reachman in tow. From the way he held himself and surveyed the room, no introductions were necessary to know that this was the King in Rags himself. Esbern got to his feet, and even Cicero put his shivs away.

 

“Are these your brothers in arms then, Eola?” Madanach asked surveying them. Esbern met his eyes calmly, Cicero rather less so.

 

“Cicero is Eola's brother, yes,” said Cicero, folding his arms and glaring at Madanach. “Has the King in Rags agreed to come with us back to Karthspire to free our Listener?”

 

“That's not the reason I'm going back, well, not the only reason.” Madanach looked sharply at Eola to confirm the truth of this then back at Cicero. “Mireen has the Listener held hostage? Has she taken complete leave of her senses?”

 

Cicero nodded, pleased to see someone else agreed with him on this. All right, he liked this Madanach.

 

“She has, she has,” Cicero whined. “She has my Listener prisoner and won't let her go until we bring the King in Rags back! Dear Madanach will come?”

 

“Sounds like I need to, that camp's going to need a leader when the Void comes calling for her,” Madanach said wearily. “Taking the Chosen of Sithis hostage?? What was she thinking?”

 

Cicero's eyes widened at Madanach's casual usage of Brotherhood terminology. Eola grinned at his obvious confusion.

 

“Told you, bro. Sithis is the oldest of the old gods. Forsworn don't mess with the Brotherhood if they can avoid it. Da, this is Cicero and that's Esbern. Cicero, Esbern, this is Madanach.” She had her arm linked with Madanach's, smiling up at him. “King in Rags, Reach-King that was and will be again, head of the Forsworn Rebellion... and my father.”

 

Father? Eola had a – and now it was obvious, from the same feral grins and the way they moved and the eyes and dear gods, Eola's father was the King in Rags. Cicero hoped for Madanach's sake Eola had not told him about the corpse-eating, and why had Eola not told him this earlier?!

 

“Father? Father??? Eola did not tell Cicero she had a father!” Cicero cried. “She did not tell Cicero that she was a Ragged Princess, no! Does Eola have any more important relatives she would like to tell her humble brother about? Emperor Titus Mede is not her grandfather, is he? General Tullius not her uncle?”

 

Before either Eola or Madanach could respond, Esbern's hand clamped down on Cicero's shoulder.

 

“What I am sure dear Cicero will eventually get round to saying is that he is very pleased to meet you, Madanach, very pleased indeed, and that he now clearly sees where Eola gets many of her finer attributes from,” said Esbern pleasantly, fingers holding Cicero in an iron grip. “Eola, my dear, I now understand perfectly why you were so keen to get this job done. Well done, Delphine will be proud.”

 

“Thank you, Esbern. I hope so too,” said Eola, pausing only to shoot a filthy look at Cicero before turning back to Madanach with a smile. “So, are we ready?”

 

Madanach was still looking Cicero over. “Eola, I have to ask, are you sure we can trust these two? The Nord's a bit too smooth for my liking, and you didn't tell me Cicero was completely insane.”

 

“I promise you, they're totally on our side,” said Eola, glaring pointedly at Cicero before he started protesting his sanity. “Although you're kinda right about Cicero, but don't worry, I'll look after him. Hey, Champ, no killing anyone here, you got me? Da's breaking us all out.”

 

“Cicero will not hurt anyone else,” said Cicero, still a bit sulky. “Cicero would not dream of embarrassing Eola in front of her dear... father.”

 

Madanach was calling for attention and having the other prisoners rounded up. He took one look at Borkul, still battered and bruised and did a double-take.

 

“Sweet gods, Borkul, what happened to you??” Borkul just whimpered and pointed in Cicero's direction. Eola blushed slightly, tugging on Madanach's sleeve.

 

“Sorry, Da. He wouldn't let me in to see you, so I didn't really have much choice other than to set Cicero on him.”

 

Madanach just laughed, looking at Cicero with a new-found respect. “Well! Not many could have put one over old Borkul. Looks like my little girl's got a better bodyguard than I have.”

 

Cicero blushed a little at this, bowing stiffly to Madanach. “Cicero is not exactly Eola's bodyguard, good sir Madanach. But he does his best to keep his dear sister out of trouble.”

 

“Good, keep it up,” said Madanach gruffly. “I feel a lot happier about letting her go off on dangerous jobs knowing someone reliable's got her back. Now then, is everyone here?”

 

“We're all here,” said Uraccen. “Tell me, Madanach, what's going on. This girl, is she really your daughter? I thought Kaie was the only one you had left. And having Grisvar killed? That's a little extreme.”

 

“He's outlived what little usefulness he did have,” growled Madanach. “And yes, Eola here is my youngest. Ran away from home when she was 16, but she joined the Black Hand and now she and her brothers here have come to get us out. We're going home, my boys.”

 

Cheering broke out all round, shivs and pickaxes were gathered up as everyone prepared to leave. It didn't take long. Soon Madanach was leading them all down a tunnel, which turned out to lead into a section of the Dwarven ruin Markarth was built on. Aside from a couple of frostbite spiders and Dwarven Spheres, none of which lasted long when a whole troupe of magic-using Forsworn, one Nord wizard and one Dragonborn jester set to work on them. Finally they arrived at the gates that led into the city itself. Kaie was waiting for them with a large stack of Forsworn armour and weapons... and Cicero, Esbern and Eola's things.

 

“Yours, I believe,” she said curtly, thrusting it all at Eola. “Take it you were successful?”

 

“They were,” said Madanach, arriving behind them. “Kaie, you're a marvel.” He stopped, grinning at his older daughter. “Kaie, your sister's back, look. She's in the Dark Brotherhood!”

 

“Yeah, I know,” Kaie sighed, rolling her eyes. “Takes all sorts, I suppose, but she did get the job done.” Her face softened and she approached her father. “Welcome back, Da. I knew this was likely going down so I brought weapons and armour for everyone. Let's get you dressed like you should be, hey?”

 

 

“Hang on,” Eola interrupted as Kaie and Madanach embraced. “So not only did Da have a jailbreak plan organised already, you were in on it too? Why didn't you tell me, Kaie??”

 

Kaie had the decency to look a little embarrassed as she let her father go.

 

“Didn't want word getting back to Ma,” Kaie admitted. “But yeah, Da and Nepos and I have been planning this for ages. Da had some sort of health scare earlier this year that he still won't talk about and decided he wasn't going to die in this place. So I've been stockpiling supplies at Nepos' house, potions, weapons, armour, Da's old armour and axe, getting Druadach Redoubt ready to be his new headquarters. Of course, now it looks like we're going to Karthspire instead, thanks to Ma having the same idea on her own.”

 

“Now you tell me all this!” Eola sighed, throwing up her hands. Kaie just shrugged.

 

“What was I supposed to do? Wasn't going to say anything in Ma's camp, and I couldn't find you after. I was busy enough getting a message to Nepos, retrieving all your gear with a bit of help from our guy in the guards, and getting everything down here, waiting for you. I knew you'd come this way eventually.”

 

“Yes,” said Madanach, growling. “Mireen calls in the Dark Brotherhood to bring me to her, no doubt expecting me to be dumped at her feet in my prison gear having been brought there by force. I don't like it, Kaie. I don't like it at all. I imagine she got the shock of her life seeing Eola turn up and realising she'd have to take a hostage to ensure Eola actually did bring me to her.”

 

“You got that right,” Kaie said sadly. “This... this isn't going to go well, is it?”

 

“Probably not,” Madanach said softly, arm around her shoulders. “But I'm going to her as a King, with my people at my back. We'll see what she wants. I am not going back to her as husband – that ship sunk a long time ago. But I can at least talk to her. She can't use you two against me any more, that's something.”

 

Kaie hugged her father, saying nothing, and the two stood like that for a few moments. Eola watched all this and realised that all this time, she'd thought Kaie was the goody-two shoes, the Forsworn loyalist, unquestioning, unthinking, and she'd been utterly wrong. Kaie had suffered too, was still suffering, not just from the Forsworn war but the unspoken war between her parents. Eola had chosen her father's side years ago. Kaie had tried to be the go-between and it was costing her – would cost her even more in future no doubt. Eola felt sorry for her and in that instant forgave her sister.

 

Madanach kissed Kaie on the cheek and let her go. “Come on,” he finally said. “Let's get out of here.” He let her go, clapped his hands and beckoned to everyone else. “All right everyone, collect a set of armour and some proper weapons from Kaie and get out there. We're going to let the Nords know the King in Rags is back! Do some damage, get out of the city, all meet back at Karthspire. For the Forsworn!”

 

“For the Forsworn!” the prisoners roared, pausing only to equip themselves before pouring out into the helpless city.

 

“Dear gods,” Esbern whispered. “What have we done?”

 

“What we had to,” said Eola. She patted Esbern's arm. “If it's any consolation, Da's been planning this for some time. If not tonight, it would have happened eventually.”

 

“Throw the jester into prison? Your city bleeds with the Forsworn risen!” Cicero cackled. He'd wasted no time changing back into the full jester outfit, throwing his shivs and prison gear away, and was caressing his dagger almost reverently.

 

“Is he seriously walking around dressed like that?” Madanach demanded. Esbern and Eola both nodded.

 

“I'm afraid so,” Esbern sighed. “It's a bit of an obsession with him. Best to let it go.”

 

“Ah, we can do better than that. All of you can. Kaie, did you bring the special armour by any chance?”

 

“Yes, Da,” said Kaie, managing not to roll her eyes. “Here. Three sets of the special enchanted Armour of the Old Gods. Hope they fit.”

 

Esbern and Eola took the armour off her, Eola even managing to look gracious. Esbern examined the enchantments, surprised at their potency.

 

“This is surprisingly good armour, despite it's primitive appearance. Thank you, Madanach, I shall wear it with pride.”

 

“A Nord in Forsworn armour!” Madanach laughed as Esbern got changed. “That has to be a first. What about you, Eola, going to be one of us tonight?”

 

Eola looked it over, feeling the magic resonating from it. “Ah, why not.” Diving behind a pillar, she soon emerged clad in the leather armour, hair hidden under the head-dress, ready to fight. “All right. Point me at 'em.”

 

Cicero had taken his set of armour but stashed it away.

 

“Are you not wearing yours, boy?” Madanach asked with a frown. Cicero shook his head.

 

“Cicero thanks kind Madanach for the generous gift and is sure he will use it in future. But tonight... tonight it is time for the Fool of Hearts to play!” He drew his daggers, sly grin in place... and froze when he saw Eola.

 

“Like what you see, jester?” Eola grinned. Truly Forsworn armour left very little to the imagination.

 

“I... er... will Eola be quite safe in that??” Cicero finally tore his eyes away from the more revealing bits and managed to look Eola in the eye, blushing furiously.

 

Eola rolled her eyes and cast her mage armour. “Yeah. I'll be fine. Damn, this stuff's good for magic!”

 

“Isn't it?” said Esbern, face barely visible behind his Forsworn headgear. “Now, I intend to make straight for the gates and out. Shall I meet you both at the stables?”

 

“I'll come with you,” said Eola. “But I think Cicero may have to catch us up.”

 

“A whole city, and I'm allowed to stab anyone I like who's not a Forsworn!” Cicero cackled. “Cicero could not be happier!”

 

“That's settled then,” said Madanach, emerging in his own armour, Forsworn axes at his belt. “Time to take back the Reach, my friends!”

 

“For the Forsworn!” Eola and Kaie both shouted in unison, each looking at the other in surprise.

 

“All right, little sister, so you're not so bad,” Kaie admitted. Kicking the door open, she raced out into the night. The others were not slow to follow. That night would go down in Reach history as a night of fear and death, as the Forsworn rampaged and the King in Rags announced his return in a baptism of blood. But the strangest tales told were those of a singing jester with eyes like the Void, who stabbed, maimed and slaughtered and in the midst of the carnage, threw back his head and laughed.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The sun had risen by the time the escaped Forsworn began arriving back in the Karthspire camp. Eola and Esbern were among the first arrivals, Esbern not wanting any part of the Markarth bloodbath and Eola not wanting to leave him on his own.

 

Mireen was waiting at her altar.

 

“So you're back,” the Hagraven snarled. “News of Thonar's death has reached me, but where is Madanach? Where is my husband, girl?”

 

“On his way,” said Eola. “Kaie's with him, he's not far behind us.” Sure enough, cheering and chanting of Madanach's name erupted as the King in Rags entered the camp and his people welcomed him home. Mireen actually smiled. It was not a pretty sight.

 

“You have actually done it. I didn't think you would. Hope for you yet. Here, your Listener is up by the forge. She's been no trouble.” Mireen gathered her skirts and ran off in the direction of the cheering.

 

“The forge?” Esbern asked, looking around.

 

“It's up here,” said Eola, racing for the stairs leading up to the forge itself, built on virtually the only stone surface in the entire camp. Sure enough, Delphine was there, standing and watching the Forsworn swarming around Madanach. There were a couple of young Forsworn guards standing around, both of whom looked utterly in awe of her. Eola had the feeling that had Delphine wanted to, she could have overpowered them both and escaped any time she felt like it.

 

At the sound of Eola's footsteps, she glanced up, blinked, looked her up and down in surprise and then smiled. Eola had seen Delphine smile fondly at Cicero before, and she'd seen Delphine's face light up on learning Esbern was alive, but she'd never had that smile directed at her before. It spoke of pride, pleasure and more than a dash of relief. Eola felt her heart skip a beat and couldn't help herself. Before she knew it, she was running towards Delphine, flinging her arms around the older woman and squeezing her tightly.

 

“You're OK!” said Eola, not fully realising until then how much she'd feared for Delphine's safety. “Thank the gods, I was worried...”

 

“No need,” said Delphine gently. “They've been perfect hosts. My guards have been waiting on me hand and foot, seeing to my every need. It's almost like they're intimidated by having the Listener in their camp. I can't think why.”

 

Eola laughed. The Dark Brotherhood were feared all over Tamriel, of course, but among the Forsworn, the fear was coupled with the reverence properly due to avatars of Sithis. No one would willingly harm a known member, and to lay hands upon the Listener herself? Unthinkable.

 

“So, you did it then? Killed Thonar, got Madanach out?” Delphine asked. She eyed up Eola's outfit, a little bemused. “Where'd this all come from? You look like a proper Forsworn warrior. I hope you're not thinking of leaving the Brotherhood to join them?” Despite the jokey tone of her voice, there was a definite hint of genuine plaintiveness hiding behind it.

 

“Of course not!” said Eola. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. “No, these are a gift from Madanach. Little reward for freeing him. Of course I'm not leaving! I'd miss you. And Cicero, and all of you. You guys are my family, of course I wouldn't just leave!”

 

Delphine smiled again, and again Eola felt her heart give a little flutter.

 

“That's good to know,” said Delphine. “You're the only one I trust to look after Cicero when I'm not around. Say, where is he? And Esbern? Are they alright?”

 

“I'm fine, my dear,” said Esbern as he emerged, rather slower up the stairs than Eola had been. Delphine took one look at him in full Forsworn armour, and rather abruptly let Eola go, glaring at her.

 

“Eola, how did Esbern get a set of Forsworn gear?? You don't mean to say you took him with you? _Into Cidhna Mine??_ ”

 

“I couldn't leave him on his own!” Eola protested. Delphine's glare intensified, but fortunately Esbern stepped forward and placed a hand on her arm.

 

“Delphine, my dear, don't be angry with Eola. It was entirely my idea, and I take full responsibility. I daresay I was safer with them in Markarth's prison than anywhere else in the Reach without them.”

 

“You got yourself arrested for murder!” Delphine cried. “Oh Talos, please tell me you didn't actually take part...”

 

“No, no, my innocence is safe,” said Esbern. “Cicero and Eola did the actual killing, I just guarded the door for them.”

 

Delphine uttered a strangled cry. “And where is Cicero anyway? Is he not with you? Did... did something happen?” Her voice trailed off.

 

Eola squeezed Delphine's shoulder. “It's alright, he's fine, he just let us go on ahead. Madanach gave him the opportunity to go on a bloody rampage in the streets of Markarth, he wasn't going to pass that up. He'll be along soon – I told him to make sure he stayed with the Forsworn, not get left behind.”

 

“I hope so,” said Delphine, producing a lockpick from her pocket and setting to work on a nearby chest, her guards having long since departed to get a closer look at a King who'd been in prison longer than either had been alive. Before long, she was armed again, archery gear at her back, knives in her boots, dai-katana at her waist. “Now, let's go. I see Madanach and Mireen have finally been reunited.”

 

Sure enough, Madanach had finally made his way across the wooden platforms to the solid ground where Mireen was waiting. As Eola, Esbern and Delphine made their way down the stairs, Mireen approached Madanach, arms outstretched.

 

“Welcome home, husband,” Mireen rasped. “It has been a long time, but our prodigal daughter has finally fetched you home.”

 

Delphine turned to stare at Eola, who looked rather sheepish. However, her attention was drawn back to Madanach, who had stiffened at the mere mention of the word husband.

 

“No longer, Mireen. You Ascended beyond that a long time ago.” Madanach was standing with his arms folded, glass war axe at his belt, Forsworn armour replacing prison rags and looking every inch a king. “What did you want?”

 

Mireen hissed, raising her claws.

 

“Husband. Is that a way to greet your wife? Your Queen in Rags?”

 

“ _Matriarch,_ ” Madanach growled, casting his mage armour and circling around her, clearly prepared to fight if he had to. “The old gods know I loved you once and loved you well, when we were younger and you were as fair a woman as ever graced the face of Nirn. But the years have changed us both. Losing Eithne and Amaleen and never knowing what happened to Eola until last night changed me. Old gods, Mireen, look at yourself! I'll accept you as Matriarch. But never again as wife.”

 

“What,” said Mireen, narrowing her eyes. “Have the years turned you so shallow you cannot face a woman in her true power?”

 

“True power?” asked Madanach, no longer bothering to hide his revulsion. “Ye gods, woman, if I can call you that. Power's never made a woman hideous. But joining the Hags... Mireen, why? I wasn't even dead!”

 

Mireen had gone pale, black eyes glinting viciously. “Because, _husband_ , being the only female leader of a Forsworn camp without being a Matriarch is a little akin to announcing you're either incapable, in need of a man or that your camp is a second-rate settlement. But you would never understand.”

 

“I understand it took you two decades to think of calling in the Brotherhood to get me out of prison,” Madanach snapped. “Did you become a Hag only to find it made no difference – the other Hags still thought you were weak?”

 

Mireen hissed, incensed. “Watch your tongue, husband! I have power you can only dream of!”

 

“Oh you do indeed,” Madanach laughed. “But you don't have me.” Without another word, he turned and began to walk away. Mireen howled, drawing an evil looking black dagger.

 

“Don't you walk away from me, Madanach! If you won't give me your heart willingly, I'll take it by force! Give you a new one of Briar, so you'll always be mine!” She sprang forward, leaping towards him. Madanach had already drawn his weapons, but he was a true Forsworn and he'd always been raised in fear of the Hagravens. It was blindingly obvious he wasn't going to win, and that none of the Forsworn dared to help him. None except one.

 

“Get away from him, you bitch!” Eola shrieked, dual-casting lightning and sending her mother flying off to one side, the knife falling from her hand. Slowly, Mireen staggered to her feet before shaking herself down, eyes blazing as she faced her daughter.

 

“You dare strike your own mother??” Mireen howled. Eola wavered a little, but the die was cast – she couldn't back down now.

 

“No Mother but the Night Mother,” she heard herself say, casting her mage armour and preparing to face her mother down. Mireen drew her hands back and sent dual firebolts flying in Eola's direction. Eola braced herself... and found herself hauled away by Esbern, who was warding them both. The fire dispersed harmlessly on the ward.

 

“What...” Eola began. Esbern just smiled.

 

“You kept me safe in Markarth. Allow me to return the favour, dear.”

 

“You can't hide forever, daughter,” Mireen snarled. “Come, come and face your Matriarch!”

 

“You're not her Matriarch,” a voice as cold as steel cut in. “ _I am._ ”

 

Those were the last words Mireen ever heard. Before she could react, Delphine's dai-katana sliced through the air, neatly decapitating Mireen and sending her head flying. Delphine finished the spin move and landed, dropping to her knees. Cleaning the blade on the grass, she sheathed it and faced the massed ranks of stunned Forsworn. Silence reigned supreme, apart from one choked sob from Kaie. Delphine glanced at Esbern and Eola. Esbern was smiling, and while Eola looked shocked, she also looked seriously impressed. Delphine allowed herself a smile. Nice to know she hadn't lost her touch.

 

She turned to face Madanach, who had lowered his weapons and stepped forward.

 

“May I take it you're Listener Delphine of the Dark Brotherhood?” he asked. He was looking her over, not smiling exactly, but definitely very impressed.

 

“That's right. And you would be Madanach, the King in Rags. Eola's father.” Delphine appraised him, seeing something of a resemblance. She just hoped he resembled his daughter in other ways. That was confirmed when the same grin she'd seen on Eola often enough spread across his face.

 

“Sure, she's my girl all right,” Madanach said proudly. “Got the same fire in her blood. Not many would have challenged a Matriarch to save their old Da.” He nodded at Mireen's remains. “Don't trouble yourself regarding this little... misunderstanding. Yes, she was the camp Matriarch, but we all heard her threatening to make me a Briar Heart against my will. We put up with a lot from the Hags, but even we won't tolerate that. Also, you're a Matriarch yourself. Listener to the Night Mother, Chosen of Sithis – no Forsworn in their right mind would challenge you. Taking you hostage?? What was she thinking? Did she want the old gods to strike her down?”

 

“I couldn't say,” said Delphine. “I think she wasn't sure Eola would actually do the job otherwise.”

 

Madanach tsked, shaking his head. “More fool her. Keep my girl close, Delphine, she's got talent and I'm not just saying that because I'm her Da. Any fool can see she's got a brain.”

 

“You got that right,” said Delphine, holding out a hand to Eola. Eola stepped forward, taking Delphine's hand, blushing slightly as she did so. An odd reaction, but maybe Eola just wasn't used to being singled out for praise quite so publicly. With a mother like Mireen, Delphine wasn't surprised.

 

“Now,” said Madanach. “You did the job and you did it well. I'm guessing Mireen hadn't yet got around to paying you, is that right?”

 

Delphine confirmed this was so, thankful Madanach had raised this point. She'd have hated to have to bring it up herself, not with their dead Matriarch at her feet.

 

“Thought as much. Well, I don't know what we've got in the way of gold, but I'd never want to cheat the Brotherhood. Listener, I don't suppose you know this, but when two Matriarchs fight, not only do the Forsworn stay out of it, they agree to serve the victor. So... that makes you our new camp Matriarch. Congratulations. If you ever need anything from us, you've only to ask. Just name it.”

 

Delphine had no idea what that was supposed to involve, other than living here and presiding over everything, but as far as day to day running of the camp went, Delphine was more than happy to leave that to Madanach. However, if being camp Matriarch generally involved just living here and being allowed to carry out her own projects while the Forsworn guarded her, that she could live with quite happily.

 

“In that case, I accept,” she said, unconsciously lapsing into a pose that mirrored his. “I'm quite happy to leave all running of the Forsworn and this camp to you.”

 

“Much appreciated,” Madanach murmured. “I'll make sure you've got space to live and pursue your research – there's a whole space up in the Spire itself if I remember rightly. We never went up there, but you might be able to do something with it.”

 

Karthspire. Sky Haven Temple. This was too good to be true.

 

“Just let me investigate it, I think we can work something out,” Delphine said thoughtfully. “All we ask is safe passage in and out and for no one to know we're there.”

 

“Matriarch, you have yourself a deal,” Madanach promised.

 

So it was that the Blades Brotherhood found themselves inside the Karthspire at last, looking up at the entrance to Sky Haven Temple. Cicero had rejoined them by this time, flinging himself into Delphine's arms with a joyful shriek of “LISTENER!!!” and loudly exclaiming how worried he had been and how pleased to see that no one had harmed a hair on his beloved Delphine's head, because otherwise he would have had to get angry and he did not wish to be angry at his new Forsworn friends who had been so kind and let him fight with them on the streets of Markarth. Then he had noticed Mireen's remains being carted off for burial and with some surprise, asked who had made an end of sweet Eola's mother. Everyone had glanced at Delphine, and Cicero had responded by kissing both her hands and then her. He'd been gazing at her in adoration ever since. Which was all very lovely, but right now Delphine was staring at three pillars with unfamiliar symbols on and really could do without a lovesick jester hovering at her side, stroking her hair and staring at her with those come-to-bed eyes. It was very distracting.

 

“Sorry, what did you say those were?” she asked sheepishly. Esbern sighed, exasperated.

 

“If both of you could kindly get your minds out of the bedroom and focus on the problem at hand, please? They are Akaviri symbols. That is the one for warrior, I think the second one is the one for king, if I remember correctly, and the third, with the arrow pointing down, is the one for Dragonborn.”

 

“The one that looks like two dragons at it,” Eola smirked.

 

“I would not have put it quite so crudely, but essentially yes, the symbol does indicate the offspring of dragons – really Dragonborn, pull yourself together.” Cicero had started snickering, and on catching Eola's eye, both of them dissolved into laughter. Esbern could only sigh.

 

“Really, Delphine, how do you cope with them? They're like children, the pair of them. Bloodthirsty and disturbed children, admittedly, but still.”

 

“You get used to it after a while,” said Delphine wearily. “Of course, it helps if there's something handy that you need them to kill. Cicero, Eola, could the two of you possibly come up with a way of getting that bridge down?”

 

Eola somehow got her laughter under control. “Oh, you want the bridge down? Is that all?” She turned the other two pillars to reveal the Dragonborn symbol and watched with satisfaction as the bridges came crashing down.

 

“There ya go,” said Eola, trying not to look too smug. “Kaie and my other sisters Amaleen and Eithne and I used to come up here all the time as kids. Not too hard to work out the combination when the solution is to line up three that are all the same.”

 

Delphine turned to Esbern. “There a way of changing the combination on these things?”

 

“I would have thought so,” said Esbern. “The Annals did mention some sort of control centre near the main gate – that might have something.”

 

“Good,” said Delphine. “Because if a bunch of kids can guess it, I want it changing to something else.”

 

“I wouldn't worry about that,” said Eola, her mirth fading. “We may have worked that out, but we never did figure out the next bit.”

 

The next bit turned out to be a large chamber with a tiled floor, also covered in Akaviri symbols. Cicero skipped blithely onto them – at least until a fireball shot his way, causing him to scurry back.

 

“Yeah,” said Eola. “You can see why we didn't want to hang around and figure out the solution to that one.”

 

“Well, there must be one,” said Delphine. “Esbern, any ideas?”

 

“No, but they're the same markings found on the pillars, it must be significant somehow. Is there a pattern to them?”

 

Cicero studied them thoughtfully, before stepping on to a Dragonborn symbol.

 

“What are you doing?” Delphine cried, having flashbacks to the Battle of the Flagon and mentally seeing that fireball hitting Cicero again.

 

“Don't fret,” said Cicero gently. “Cicero thinks he has an idea.” Humming to himself, he began to make his way across the floor, a strange and circuitous route, but one which miraculously failed to set off the flamethrower. Delphine held her breath and from the way Eola's hand had snaked into hers, she wasn't the only one feeling nervous.

 

“By Talos, I do believe he's got it,” said Esbern. “Yes, yes he has, he's done it!” Sure enough, Cicero had reached the other end, pulled the chain on the far side of the room, and with a loud click, the flamethrower mechanism sank into the statue. The three of them made for the exit, joined by a giggling Cicero, and raced across the other bridge.

 

“Come on then, how did you do it?” Eola asked. Cicero grinned.

 

“Why sister, you only needed to apply your first answer to it. Step on the Dragonborn symbols and only on the Dragonborn symbols. They lead you in a path to the safety release. Simple really.”

 

“Simple, yeah,” Eola sighed. “Easy when you know what the Dragonborn symbol actually is and aren't having flames shot at you, yeah.”

 

Another winding tunnel led them finally into a wide open chamber. The far wall was dominated by a relief sculpture of a man's face. Cicero looked at it, frowning.

 

“Cicero knows that face. He has seen it, he has, when he was a young boy in Cyrodiil, on a statue in the Imperial City, before the war and the nasty Thalmor destroying everything in sight.”

 

“You probably did,” said Esbern. “It's Reman Cyrodiil himself, first of the Dragonborns. This whole area has been built as a homage to him. It's really quite remarkable.”

 

“Yeah, but how do we get inside?” Delphine asked. There was enough natural light coming in to know it was starting to get dark outside.

 

Esbern indicated the circle on the floor. “There. It's a blood seal, opened by, well, blood.”

 

“Blood!” Cicero cried, cackling as he ran over and examined it, fascinated. “Ooh yes, Cicero likes blood. Blood! Blood for the blood seal, yes yes! What sort of blood? Is the blood seal fussy?”

 

“Very,” said Esbern. “It needs your blood, Dragonborn.”

 

That did give Cicero pause. “Ah. My blood, you say.”

 

“Need a hand?” Delphine called over, reliving memories of tracing Cicero's own dagger gently over his taut flesh, rivulets of crimson oozing out. For a second, her mind wandered, then she was brought back to herself by Cicero's voice.

 

“Not this time, Listener.” Cicero had pulled off his left glove and drawn his dagger. A swift cut to his hand and blood trickled out on to the seal. As it pooled into the seal's grooves, the seal glowed and Reman Cyrodiil's face swung back into the temple. The gate lay open.

 

“After you, Dragonborn,” said Esbern. “You should have the honour of being first to enter.”

 

Cicero looked up at Delphine for permission to run ahead. Delphine just nodded.

 

“Go ahead. We'll be right behind you.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Cicero walked into Sky Haven Temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go. Cidhna Mine, Cicero style. The fight between him and Borkul owes an awful lot to a certain contest between Hircine and Sheogorath. 
> 
> Cariad is the Welsh word for dear or darling - I picked it as the Reachmen probably had their own language at some point and the terms of endearment are the most likely to survive even if everything else goes. Same with 'ap', it's the Welsh word for 'son of', although I use it here in a more gender neutral sense. M'inyeen is from the Irish for my daughter.
> 
> Next week's update will involve the two Brotherhoods beginning to collide. The Blades Brotherhood get another guest, Astrid is a woman obsessed and Cicero is a terrible, terrible role model.


	13. Innocence Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skyrim's not big enough for two Dark Brotherhoods, and the Falkreath Sanctuary know more than the Karthspire cell realise. As the Blades Brotherhood start to realise the danger and regroup, Astrid's busy plotting a strike at their very heart...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No pr0n in this segment, it's not even that violent. I do apologise, future parts will make up for this...

It was getting late when Aranea finally led the other two back into Windhelm. Cold it might be, but Hjerim was big and comfortable and more importantly had that huge master bedroom. Aranea had every intention of claiming that for herself. Possibly, if Calixto and Sapphire were very well-behaved, she might even deign to share it. Maybe. They'd both been spectacularly polite all the way back from Hjaalmarch, keeping to their promise not to mention anything about the previous night ever. On the one hand, it meant Aranea had the chance to forget about it and move on. On the other hand, given that fragments kept coming back, just enough to tease and remind her, it was starting to annoy her that she couldn't just talk to them about it. It was all rather frustrating.

 

They made it through the gates without much trouble, the guards barely bothering to look up. Through the Stone Quarter they went, until finally home loomed into view. Home sweet home, and Aranea could almost feel that double bed's sheets against her skin... and then she noticed the small boy sitting on the doorstep. He looked frozen, but Aranea couldn't afford to get compassionate now.

 

“What are you doing here, boy? Have you no home to go to?”

 

“I can't go home,” said the boy miserably. “She'll get me if I do! Please, you're my only hope!” He noticed Calixto and smiled. “You'll help, won't you? You helped me before!”

 

“Aventus Aretino,” said Calixto, his voice dangerously soft. “I had thought you would be halfway to Riften by now.”

 

“I can't afford the carriage,” said Aventus sadly. “And I can't go to Riften on my own, not with dragons around. They say there's one on the road, just before you get to Mistwatch Ridge. Now I can't go home any more, because she's after me. She says she's one of you, kept asking questions. I wouldn't tell her anything though. If she was really one of you, she wouldn't need to ask, right?”

 

“Keep your voice down, boy,” said Aranea. She recognised the boy's name, she'd been there when Calixto had been given the contract to follow up, after all. A former customer, and one who'd been visited by a mysterious woman asking questions about them. Not good. Not good at all. “Who is she? Who is asking? If she's not a blonde Breton, and I doubt very much she is, she's no sister of ours.”

 

“She looks like a little girl, but she's not,” said Aventus fiercely. “She's a vampire, I can tell. She came to my house just before dawn, woke me up, kept asking who'd taken the contract on, if it really had been Grelod I'd wanted dead. I don't know how she knew, but I was scared. I just grabbed my bag and ran, hit her with a candle to get her to leave me alone. Then I ran out of the house. Spent all day wandering the streets. I tried your house but you weren't in, then I heard people saying how you'd bought the Butcher's lair and had friends staying over. So I waited all day, hoping you'd come back. Now here you are, and you'll help me, right, Mr. Corrium? Like you did before, with Grelod? Except... I don't have anything to give you any more. I don't have any money. But if you want, I'll be your apprentice? I bet I could be the best assassin ever!”

 

“Sssshhh!” Calixto hissed. “You think I want everyone knowing?”

 

Aranea looked at Sapphire, who had gone pale on hearing about the child vampire.

 

“Babette,” Sapphire whispered. “That's Babette, from the Falkreath Sanctuary. Astrid knows, Aranea, she's tracking us down. And they probably know we're in Windhelm, if they know Cal's been having friends in town. Heck, Babette could be watching us right now and we wouldn't know.”

 

Aranea looked at the sky, stars starting to appear as the sun went down. Unlocking the door to Hjerim, she grabbed Aventus and flung him inside, before beckoning the others in after her.

 

Once they were all inside, Aranea locked the door and cast a magelight. Sapphire drew her dagger and began checking cabinets, anywhere a child might hide. Aranea motioned for Calixto to check the kitchen.

 

“I'll stay here with the boy. The two of you check the ground floor then move upstairs. Stay close together, we don't know if Babette's alone in the city or not, or if anyone's broken in before we got here.”

 

“I've been here all afternoon, no one's been here,” said Aventus. Aranea smiled grimly.

 

“We take no chances, boy. We make sure our Sanctuary hasn't been compromised before we do anything else. Then we make sure it's secure against invasion.”

 

“Do you think they'll try anything?” Aventus whispered. “Who is Babette, is she Brotherhood too? Why would the Dark Brotherhood be hunting other members?”

 

“The other Sanctuary don't know we're members,” said Aranea softly. “Now hush, I need to be able to hear if either of the others run into trouble.”

 

Finally Sapphire and Calixto finished scouring the house and reported it clear. Aranea didn't feel relieved.

 

“All right. Now get this door barricaded, no one gets in or out without us knowing. We'll sleep down here tonight in the bedrolls. One of us on watch at all times. The boy can have the single room upstairs. No, Cal, you can't go back to your house, not tonight. We need to stay together, make sure no one tries anything. In the morning, we'll have to retreat back to our original base. Not ideal, but we've no idea where the Listener's gone, we need to be somewhere she knows to find us and we can't stay here, not now. Sapphire, you should probably take the boy back to Riften in the morning, get him into the orphanage there, then hide out in the Flagon yourself. We'll come and get you once we've got in touch with the rest of the Family.”

 

Sapphire nodded approval, but Aventus looked terrified.

 

“No, you can't leave me there!” he cried. “It's not safe, she'll find me! She might bring others! If you could get in there to get Grelod, they surely can!” He clung on to Calixto. “Please sir, don't send me away!”

 

Calixto looked horribly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but didn't thrust the boy away either.

 

“He has a point, Aranea. That orphanage can't protect him if our estranged cousins come calling. Also he knows too much now. Knows our names, our faces, that this is one of our bases. We can't just let him go free for our enemies to find.”

 

Damn it. He was right too. Slitting the boy's throat was one option, but Aranea couldn't bring herself to kill a ten year old boy. She wasn't even sure Sapphire had it in her.

 

“Fine, have it your way,” Aranea sighed. “Well, Aventus, looks like you'll be a guest of the Brotherhood for a little longer, at least until we can get reunited with our leader. Then she can decide what to do with you.”

 

“Awesome!” Aventus cried, surprising everyone. “I get to stay with the Dark Brotherhood! This is the best thing ever! I promise I'll be good and not get in your way. Thank you so much, ma'am Aranea! You won't regret it, I swear!”

 

“Too late,” Sapphire muttered, heading for the kitchen. If they were stuck with the boy, not to mention a most likely sleepless night with no chance of Aranea deciding she felt frisky again, she could at least have dinner.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Twenty four hours later, and the four of them finally made it back to Riverwood. They'd waited until the sun was well and truly up before leaving Hjerim, and they'd taken the carriage as far as Whiterun. Speed was everything, and it was a lot easier to spot potential trackers from sitting up high in a carriage than it was at ground level. By the time Whiterun loomed into view, Aranea was satisfied that they hadn't been followed. Still, she didn't want to linger and dragged them all straight off to Riverwood without pausing for such niceties as food and a rest. She ignored the complaints. What didn't kill them would make them stronger.

 

They'd finally made it to the Sleeping Giant and collapsed. Orgnar had been less than pleased to see them, but Sapphire had dumped some gold in front of him, sufficient to pay for four guests and dinner all round, which had shut him up. Now they'd all turned in, Calixto and Sapphire in beds across the hall, and Aranea in Delphine's bed, with Aventus on the floor in a bedroll. It was not glamourous but it would do. Aranea could only hope Delphine would find them before long. As it was, she'd probably have to send Sapphire and Calixto to the Reach before long to see if either of them could locate Delphine.

 

She settled down to rest, hoping the morning would bring answers. It did, but sooner than she'd have liked. At some ungodly hour of the night, she woke to hear the door opening. Someone was sneaking in, albeit very very quietly. So quietly and so stealthily she wasn't sure where exactly they were... at least not until Aventus started screaming, a sound swiftly muffled by someone placing a hand over his mouth. Aranea wasted no time. She set off a jet of fire in the general direction of the air above the boy's head, as well as casting a mage light with her other hand. Aventus' assailant fell back cursing, the fire just missing him. Fortunate indeed, in the event. Aranea lowered her hands, finally getting a good look at the intruder. Cicero glared back, brushing dust off his jester outfit.

 

“What in the name of Azura are you doing here?” said Aranea wearily.

 

“What am I doing here??” Cicero snapped. “I am here on the L- on my Mistress's orders! Aranea is meant to be in Windhelm, awaiting similar orders, if her business in Solitude is finished! Why are you here? Where are your brother and sister? And who is this... boy?? He surely isn't yours.”

 

“You leave her alone!” Aventus shouted, his fists raised. “She's with the Dark-”

 

“Aventus!” said Aranea. “You have been told not to say that outside a Sanctuary. Be quiet.”

 

Cicero looked at the boy, something almost like pity in his eyes, or the nearest he ever got to it.

 

“And what, boy, do you think Cicero is exactly? Hired entertainment? A simple fool, dancing through the world, bringing merriment in his wake, hmm?”

 

“Er...” Aventus looked at the jester outfit, but even he could see that Cicero was far, far more than a simple merry man. “I don't know,” he said, guessing correctly that it was probably the safest answer to give.

 

“Hmph. At least the boy admits to his ignorance. Tell me, boy, have you ever been afraid of the monster under the bed? The things that go bump in the night?” Cicero lowered his voice, dark and and dangerous. “Cicero is the thing they are afraid of.”

 

“Enough,” said Aranea. Aventus had gone very still and was clearly frightened, even though he was doing his best not to show it. “Cicero, put the knife away. Aventus Aretino is with us. He has some information Delphine needs to hear.”

 

Cicero did as he was bid, sly grin spreading across his face. “Aventus Aretino, is it? Cicero remembers you. You're the boy who performed the Sacrament. Cicero's dear Mistress did not want to take that contract at first, but she sent Cicero's brother anyway. Cicero had heard that business was dealt with, so why is the boy Aventus here?”

 

“Because the other Brotherhood came after me,” said Aventus, glaring at Cicero. “They wanted to know who Mr. Corrium was, who I'd wanted killed. I was scared, so I ran away. Then I found Mr. Corrium, and Mistress Aranea and Miss Sapphire too, and asked them for help. So they took me with them. Are you with them or the Other Brotherhood?”

 

Cicero had gone pale, turning to Aranea in horror.

 

“Sister, say it's not true. That harlot Astrid and her fellows don't know about us.”

 

“They know,” said Aranea heavily. “I don't know how, but we've not exactly been keeping a low profile, have we? We've been visiting people who performed the Sacrament and killing their enemies, it was going to come to Astrid's attention sooner or later.”

 

“Were you followed? Do they know who we are? Do they know where we are? Sweet Mother, this is bad. This is very bad.” Cicero was pacing the room, agitated. “Cicero has returned not a moment too soon, it seems.”

 

“Calm yourself, brother,” said Aranea, getting up and turning him to face her. He looked up at her, clearly terrified, and things that scared Cicero were few and far between. “We were not followed. Hjerim is compromised, yes – we can't go back there. I'm sure they have Windhelm under watch. I suspect they know Cal and I are Brotherhood by now, probably Sapphire too, but you and Eola and Delphine may have escaped their notice. We've no reason to believe they know we've been working out of here. Not yet anyway. But we do need to move, you're right. What about you, was your mission successful? Did Delphine find what she was after?”

 

Cicero did brighten up at this, dancing and clapping his hands. “Ooh yes, yes she did!” Cicero took Aranea's hands in his own, his entire face lit up with joy. “She found us a home, she did, she did! A new Sanctuary, hidden in a mountain, protected with devious traps and new allies! A veritable fortress! Delphine is there with Eola and Esbern, taking inventory, acquiring supplies. She sent Cicero here though, to charter a cart and retrieve the greatest treasure of all. Cicero had another errand too, but it can wait. Cicero can hardly leave Mother here, not with the false Brotherhood on our tails.”

 

“Mother?” Aventus asked, fascinated. “Who's Mother? Wait, the Night Mother! Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, send your child unto me! She really exists? And she's here?” He immediately regretted speaking as Cicero and Aranea both turned to glare at him, Aranea's red eyes glacial, Cicero's brown ones... worse.

 

“I won't tell anyone, I swear!” he whimpered, backing away.

 

“You had better not,” said Aranea. “You already know far too much as it is.”

 

“Children should be seen and not heard,” Cicero growled. “Or talkative Aventus will not find it going well with him. Be grateful Delphine will want to talk with you, and that she disapproves of murdering children.”

 

“Yes sir,” Aventus whispered, shrinking back from Cicero. “I promise, sir.”

 

“Sir!” Cicero laughed. “No one has called Cicero sir in a very long time, if ever. Well, not without a knife at their throat anyway. Aranea, I need to see to Mother and then get some sleep. As for you, boy, stay with my sister and do as you're told and all will be well. Try to lay your outsider eyes on Mother, and Cicero may find himself conveniently forgetting that you're wanted alive. Is Cicero quite clear on this?”

 

Aventus quickly nodded, backing away and sidling behind Aranea. Cicero nodded to Aranea and stepped into the wardrobe, descending into the secret cellar and closing the panel behind him. Aranea locked the wardrobe.

 

“He's really scary,” said Aventus nervously. Aranea briefly considered trying to reassure the boy, before deciding that actually, no, a healthy fear of Cicero never did anyone any harm.

 

“He is that,” said Aranea. “We are Dark Brotherhood, child, what were you expecting?”

 

Aventus didn't answer that one. If he was honest, Cicero was exactly the sort of terrifying maniac he'd expected.

 

“Would he really kill me?” he asked. Aranea nodded.

 

“If Delphine ordered it, he wouldn't hesitate. If he thought you were a threat to the Night Mother, he wouldn't wait for her order. He'll listen to me, but don't think for a moment that I am in any way in charge of him. He answers directly to the Listener, and only to the Listener.”

 

Aventus shivered, dragging his bedroll closer to Aranea's bed. “But he won't hurt me if I stay with you, right?”

 

“Probably not,” said Aranea, climbing back into bed. “All the same, best not to take chances, hmm?”

 

Aventus burrowed down into his bedroll, one final question occurring to him.

 

“But if the other Brotherhood do turn up here, Cicero could fight them, right?”

 

Aranea smiled grimly as she put the mage light out. “Of that, dear boy, you need have no doubt whatsoever.”

 

Aventus felt a tiny little part of him unwind in relief. Cicero might be worse than any monster... but he wasn't one of the monsters hunting Aventus, and for that, the boy could only be thankful.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Astrid did what she'd done every day since learning of the false Brotherhood – stare at her newly improvised Murder Board, a roll of paper pinned to her desk, trying to make some sense of it all. The timeline was a useful device, but so far, organising what they did know just made the gaps that bit more obvious.

 

First, Nelacar. Found dead behind the Frozen Hearth Inn, rumoured to be a murder, possibly an accident. No client. Honestly, Astrid wouldn't have bothered including it but rumours of Brotherhood involvement meant it stayed until she could definitely rule it out.

 

Next, the Muiri contract. One she'd personally spent ages investigating and checking out, only to have it stolen by this mysterious Dunmer mage and her Imperial associate. It looked like the Dunmer had met Muiri alone to discuss the details, headed off to take care of the kills, then returned to collect payment with this Imperial in tow. Alain DuFont and his gang taken apart with Destruction magic – well, this mage could probably have done that alone if need be. Nilsine, now... the Butcher's last victim, allegedly, with the Butcher himself arrested shortly thereafter. The Windhelm court mage of all people. Allegedly.

 

“So what happened, Babette?” Astrid asked. “What did you find out? Was Aretino co-operative?”

 

“No,” Babette scowled, still nursing a nasty burn on her arm from where the candle had hit. “Refused to talk to me, got away. Damn kids. They see what the adults don't want to. Said I wasn't the real Dark Brotherhood, hit me with a candle and ran.”

 

“Are you alright?” Astrid asked, concerned. “Have you had Festus take a look? He's not got Gabriella's skills but he's not bad.”

 

“I'm fine, Astrid,” said Babette. “I've got potions. That boy won't be when I get hold of him though.” Her smile revealed her vampiric fangs for all to see. Astrid smiled and turned back to the board.

 

“Were you able to learn anything else? Any gossip? Any thoughts on who the Imperial man might be? I'm beginning to wonder if he's a new recruit that our Dunmer lady enlisted to help with Nilsine.”

 

Babette's smile widened. “Got the whole story from Viola Giordano. Wouldn't shut up about it. Still don't have a name for the Dunmer, but she showed up in town two days before Nilsine died, the day they found Susannah the waitress. She offered her services as an investigator and it was her who found the evidence they needed to arrest Wuunferth.”

 

Astrid scribbled furiously on the Murder Board. “Oh now, that is beyond coincidence. So she kills Nilsine somehow and frames someone else as the Butcher of Windhelm. Have the killings actually stopped?”

 

“Yeah. Weird, no? It gets better. After Wuunferth goes down, one of the city's most respectable citizens closes up his house and decides he'd like to see the world again, heads off into the blue. Just like that.”

 

Astrid stopped writing and looked up. Babette was grinning like the cat that got the canary.

 

“Who?” Astrid asked. “Babette, have you found our Imperial?”

 

“Guy by the name of Calixto Corrium,” Babette grinned. “Late forties, was in the Legion during the war, ex-Winterhold student, travelled extensively with his sister until she died. Got rich dealing in antiquities and is now known as the local wealthy eccentric. Charming man, if a little odd, or so Viola told me.”

 

“Charming!” Astrid laughed, delighted. “Of course, of course he is. The best ones always are.” Underneath her timeline, she wrote “CALIXTO CORRIUM – BUTCHER OF WINDHELM” and drew an arrow linking him with Nilsine Shatter-Shield and all the places where she'd previously noted the presence of Imperial Man.

 

“So our Dunmer tracks down the real Butcher and instead of doing her civic duty and turning him in, she recruits him and persuades him to help kill Nilsine,” said Astrid, impressed. “Then she also persuades him to give up serial killing and take up assassination elsewhere so that the killing actually does stop once she's set up some other poor fool to take the fall. I have to hand it to her, she's smart. Of course, not quite smart enough. Anything else?”

 

“Oh, this is where it gets really interesting,” said Babette. “A week later and he's back, waving a huge bag of gold in front of the Steward and asking to buy Hjerim – that's the house the Butcher was using. Wanted to add the murder scene to his collection of oddities, seeing as the Shatter-Shields wanted nothing more to do with the place. Has the mess cleared up, a kitchen and living room put in, bedrooms upstairs, and get this – took some old targets, training dummies and surplus bedrolls off the guards. Reckoned he had some friends coming to stay for a bit, wanted somewhere to house them all.”

 

“Friends?” said Astrid, all ears. Another circle appeared with the words HJERIM – WINDHELM SANCTUARY in it and a whole array of arrows linking it to other things. “Tell me more of these friends.”

 

“He leaves the same day and comes back in the early hours of the following morning with a whole bunch of them in tow, including our Dunmer. Of course, Windhelm being Windhelm, everyone's all over the fact that Calixto's friends with a grey-skin, and no one really pays any attention to the others. Two Breton women who might be mother and daughter, couple of Nords – an old guy and his granddaughter, and some Imperial guy in a jester hat. I don't know anything about him – way too young to have been in the Legion with Corrium though.”

 

Astrid had gone very still. “Jester hat. He's wearing a jester hat?” She began scrambling through the reports she'd been gathering on disappearances and unsolved murders. Most were unsubstantiated, probably accidents, young lovers or bored young adults running away from home, murders only unsolved through lack of proof against a likely culprit or the work of her own people. Still, the mention of a jester had brought one to mind.

 

“Why, you know something?” Babette asked, curious.

 

Astrid picked out the scroll, scanned it and promptly added a new piece to her timeline. BROTHER VERULUS DISAPPEARANCE, it read. Underneath, Astrid wrote JESTER INVOLVED?

 

“Brother Verulus, priest of Arkay in Markarth. Missing since before Nelacar died. May be connected, may not be. But before he died, the Hall of the Dead was shut for reasons unknown. Then a man in a jester outfit turns up, offers to help, apparently sorts out the problem, Hall re-opens. A day later, Verulus vanishes without a trace.” Astrid tapped the paper, thoughtful. “I think we may have our first victim.”

 

Babette peered at the paper herself. “Could be, I guess. If it's the same guy. Assuming it was a kill and they didn't recruit him.”

 

Astrid just laughed. “Oh Babette. Why would a Brotherhood cell need one of Arkay's priests? And how many jesters are there wandering around Skyrim? I'm sure this is the same man, and I'm almost positive he won Verulus' trust and killed him. Don't know who the client might have been, but Verulus was seen arguing with one of the Silver-Bloods before the jester showed up. They've not used our services before, but I'm sure they'd hire us if they really wanted someone discreetly murdered.”

 

“Silver-Blood?” Arnbjorn was standing in the corridor that led in from the Sanctuary's main entrance. “What about the Silver-Bloods? Wife, have you not heard? All Oblivion's broken loose in Markarth.”

 

Behind Arnbjorn, Nazir arrived, clearly just back from his own reconnaissance trip. “Markarth? Forget Markarth, wait until I tell you what happened in Solitude.”

 

Astrid felt her heart sink, as she took in the looks on both men's faces. Stunned, angry... and very impressed. She turned to look at her Murder Board again.

 

“I'm going to need more paper, aren't I?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Wake up, boy. We're there and you're dribbling.”

 

Aventus woke up very quickly as that voice penetrated his ears. They'd left around midday, after Calixto and he had got back from Whiterun with a newly bought horse and cart. It hadn't taken long to load it up with a surprising amount of things, including an alchemy lab, arcane enchanter, potions and ingredients, various pieces of weaponry, clothes, books and other personal items belonging to the mysterious Delphine, and strangest of all, a large and heavy wooden crate that took up most of the cart and had everything else stacked on top of it, much to Cicero's displeasure.

 

“This is hardly respectful,” he'd complained. Aventus had promptly hidden behind Calixto, as Sapphire turned to the jester, glaring.

 

“And how the hell are we meant to get it all on the one cart otherwise, hmm? You heard Cal, there was only one for sale. Delphine wants all this stuff shipped in one go, we don't have a choice. You're not seriously suggesting we make two trips?”

 

The expected meltdown had not occurred. Cicero had glared back but in the end relented.

 

“Fine, fine. But if any harm is caused by this, Cicero is not to blame!” With that, he'd flounced into the driver's seat, tersely waiting for everyone else to sort themselves out. Aranea and Sapphire had managed to just about find space in the cart, while Aventus had found himself sitting up front sandwiched in between the two men. The journey had been a long and arduous one taking all that day and most of the night, with Calixto and Cicero taking it in turns to drive. There'd only been two real difficulties – the dragon attack at Rorikstead being the most dangerous, involving Cicero and both women leaping from the cart and rushing to fight it, while Calixto stayed back to guard both Aventus and the cart. Then there'd been the Forsworn at Broken Tower Redoubt. That had been a strange one. Forsworn fighters running towards them while their colleagues had nocked arrows from the ramparts, all shouting “Come and face the For-” and then abruptly stopping as they saw Cicero.

 

Cicero had looked at the Forsworn warrior holding her stone axes at the ready. She had looked nervously back at him. Then she'd lowered her weapons, bowed and said “As you were, Keeper. Welcome to the Reach”, before running back into the fortress. All along the walls, Forsworn had lowered their weapons, and some even saluted. Cicero stood up in the cart, bowed very formally back to them, before sitting back down and letting Calixto nudge the horse onwards.

 

“Do I even want to know how you've managed to get the Forsworn, of all people, on your good side?” Calixto had asked. Cicero had just smiled.

 

“Sister Eola tells the tale better than I,” said Cicero, refusing to be drawn any further. Aventus had just stared at the jester in awe.

 

“Wow. The Dark Brotherhood really can do anything,” Aventus had said, marvelling. Cicero had just shrugged.

 

“We are not all-powerful. But we do have a few friends in high places.”

 

Aventus had drifted off to sleep after that and didn't remember much else of the journey. Now he opened his eyes, looking up slowly and realising he'd fallen asleep on Cicero, who was staring coldly back at him.

 

“Sorry,” he'd gasped, abruptly sitting up. A fur blanket that he didn't recall having been there before slipped off his shoulders. “Hey, where'd this come from...”

 

“We can hardly have the dear child freezing, can we?” Cicero had snapped, withdrawing the arm that had been around Aventus' shoulders. On his other side, Aventus noticed Calixto biting his lip, a grin on his face. “Something funny, Butcher?” Cicero had asked.

 

“Not at all, Jester,” Calixto had grinned. “Not remotely. I just never thought I'd see you of all people put up with a child sleeping on your shoulder for three hours.”

 

Cicero growled, showing all the patience and even-temper of a man who has been sitting in a rickety wooden cart all night with very little sleep, and promptly leapt off, wincing as he landed and walking rather awkwardly towards a group of Forsworn guards, arms crossed over his chest.

 

“Is he alright?” Aventus asked, worried. Calixto nodded, still grinning.

 

“He'll be fine. He's always like that after an unwanted confrontation with his better nature. A good murder or some time alone with the Listener should see him right. Wake the other two up, won't you? From the look of it, I believe we're here.”

 

“No need, we're awake,” Aranea called from underneath her own blanket. “Oh gods, my neck. And my back. If there is a part of me not in agony, it is only because I can't actually feel it.”

 

Sapphire was having similar problems. “I'd ask someone to put me out of my misery but round here, well, not a good idea. Is this it? Wow, we are in the middle of nowhere, aren't we?”

 

They'd left the road behind and crossed a double bridge into the river valley. Up ahead, Cicero was talking to the Forsworn still, and then strangest of all, another one arrived and promptly hugged him. Stranger still, he didn't stab her on sight but lifted her in the air and spun her round, depositing her on the ground and gesticulating at the cart.

 

“Sweet Azura, is that Eola?” Aranea asked, rubbing her eyes.

 

“Wow,” said Sapphire. “Those outfits really don't leave much to the imagination, do they?”

 

“I wasn't looking,” said Calixto, pointedly keeping his eyes trained on the horizon as he urged the horse on to meet the others. Sure enough, Eola was there, dressed in full Forsworn armour, arms folded and smiling at them as the cart made its way to the camp. Sapphire and Aranea promptly disembarked, desperate to stretch their legs.

 

“Welcome to the Karthspire Camp,” said Eola. She looked her sisters up and down. “Sweet gods, you guys have been travelling all night, haven't you?”

 

“Do not be feeling too sorry for them,” said Cicero, pouting. “At least his sweet sisters have slept, which is more than can be said for poor Cicero.”

 

“Poor baby,” Eola murmured, pinching Cicero's cheek. Aventus held his breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion, but it never came. Cicero just waved her away, irritated.

 

“Might sweet Eola furnish us with some assistance in getting Mother home? Cicero has no intention of carrying that coffin up all those stairs on his own.”

 

Eola laughed. “Sure!” Within seconds, an honour-guard of Forsworn had gathered, falling in behind the cart, and Eola herself had leapt into the seat next to Aventus, looking him over rather predatorily.

 

“Well aren't you a cutie-pie!” she drawled. “I swear I could eat you right up.”

 

“Eola,” said Calixto, a warning note creeping into his voice as he put his free arm around Aventus. “Leave him be. He needs to speak to Delphine. Aventus, this is Eola. She's one of our sisters.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” said Aventus shyly, not at all sure how to react to this one. She seemed friendlier than Cicero, but equally as dangerous in her own way.

 

“Aventus?” Eola asked, raising an eyebrow. “What, as in Aretino?” On seeing the boy nod, she looked up at Calixto sharply. “I thought you took care of his contract!”

 

“I did,” Calixto sighed. “There were... complications.”

 

“Complications?” Eola's eyes narrowed. “What sort of complications? You killed the old hag, left a great big arrow sign above the body saying 'Dark Brotherhood was here!' and got out without being fingered by the law. What's so complicated about that?”

 

“It was the arrow sign,” said Calixto, bringing the cart to a halt at the foot of the stone staircase leading up. As he did so, the Forsworn swarmed the carriage and began emptying it, carrying the entire contents up the stairs. The crate containing the Night Mother gave them some pause, but soon they'd wrapped rope handles around it and six of the burlier Forsworn men were now transporting it upstairs under Cicero's watchful eyes.

 

“The arrow sign?” Eola asked.

 

“The Other Brotherhood,” said Aventus. “They sent someone after me. She was a vampire who looked like a little girl and she was asking questions. About you guys. So I ran away and found Mr. Corrium again, and he and Madam Aranea decided to bring me here to tell the Listener.”

 

“Molag Bal's hairy ar- armpits,” Eola breathed, remembering in time she was around a small child. “That's not good. You weren't followed, I hope.”

 

Calixto shook his head. “I don't think so. But we could be in trouble here. Think Delphine's got a plan for this eventuality? I have to tell you, I've never seen Cicero look worried before.”

 

“Delphine's got a plan for everything,” said Eola. However, her usual cheerful expression had faded. “I'll speak with Da, make sure no one claiming to be Brotherhood who isn't one of us gets past his people. Then I guess it's down to our Listener.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Aventus could only stare in awe as the passageway they'd been following finally opened into a huge central cavern. Holes in the ceiling let the early morning sunlight through, and braziers along the walls provided the rest of the light. One wall was dominated by a large stone relief carving, and the centre of the room had a candle-lit banqueting table with food set out. The Forsworn had gone ahead with all the equipment, Eola leading the way with Cicero, and Aventus was walking hand in hand with Aranea. Calixto walked behind, and Sapphire was just ahead of them, also impressed by the place.

 

“This place is amazing,” Sapphire whispered. “Oh my god, I had no idea all this was even here!”

 

“I will never ever doubt our Listener again. Ever,” said Calixto. “Finding all this, and enlisting Forsworn protection too? Truly, I will serve no one else.”

 

Aranea just smiled, nodding in approval. “It will do,” was all she said, but Aventus could tell she was as impressed as the others.

 

Standing in front of the table, a blonde woman in ornately styled steel plated armour and a long, slender curved sword at her waist was standing, clearly waiting for them. From the confident way she carried herself, it was immediately apparent that she was the mysterious Listener Delphine. And if that hadn't given it away, the fact that Cicero, who had not struck Aventus as a man who made a habit out of kneeling to anyone, was crouched at her feet, head bowed in submission.

 

“Listener,” he heard Cicero say. “I've brought Mother home.”

 

“So you have, and yourself home too,” Delphine replied. “Thank you, Cicero, as always. Don't know what I'd do without you.” She reached down a gauntleted hand to him. Looking up, Cicero took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. To Aventus' surprise and vague disgust, Delphine proceeded to put her arms around Cicero and kiss him, and to his even bigger surprise, he was kissing her back. Fortunately, they broke apart after only a few seconds, hands resting on each other's shoulders.

 

“You have new armour,” Cicero said. Delphine nodded.

 

“There's a whole load of this stuff in the armoury,” she said, grinning. “It's in really good condition too, did you want a set?”

 

Cicero shook his head. “Oh no, Listener. It looks heavy. Cicero wouldn't be able to move in that. Cicero is very impressed his Listener is able to wear it.”

 

“I trained for years, Cicero, I'm used to it,” said Delphine. She glanced up and noticed the little group at the door. “Don't just stand there, my friends, come in, make yourselves at home. There's breakfast, and enough bedrooms for you all to have your own, and even a bathing chamber with water piped up from the Karth, although it's cold, you'll need to get the water-heater fed with some logs first if you want it warm. Works though.” Her eyes fell on Aventus and her smile faded. She let go of Cicero and stepped forward.

 

“Who's this?” she asked softly, hands on her hips. Aventus felt his mouth dry up. While she didn't seem evil or insane, not the terrifying figure of nightmares Cicero or Eola might be, there was no doubt whatsoever that this woman, this Listener, was not someone you crossed lightly.

 

“This is Aventus Aretino, Listener,” said Aranea, nudging him forward. Delphine's eyes widened at the mention of his name. Her stern expression fading to a gentler one, she dropped to her knees so she wasn't towering over him.

 

“You're the boy who performed the Sacrament,” she said in wonder. “Was there a problem? Calixto gave me the impression it had all gone smoothly and you'd paid us.”

 

“Yeah, he killed Grelod for me,” said Aventus, the effect of an uncomfortable carriage ride through the night starting to tell on him. “And I paid him and everything! But then she came, the little girl vampire from the Other Brotherhood and she was asking questions and she was really scary, so I had to run away, and I was cold and lonely and frightened, so I went looking for Mr. Corrium to protect me, and he brought me here with the others, and now I'm scared they'll come after me here, because even Eola and Cicero are worried and they're both really really scary, and...” He stopped, realising to his horror that he was crying. Delphine was looking both sympathetic and guilty, one gauntleted hand rubbing his back as she pulled him closer.

 

“They won't find you here,” said Delphine gently. “Aventus, I am so very sorry this has happened to you, but you were very brave to get away and then find us. Don't worry, they can't possibly know this place is here, we didn't even know until my friend Esbern told us, and they don't know who he is. There's traps on the way in that they'll need to get past, and once the door's sealed, no one can open it from outside. Also we have the Forsworn on watch. They won't let any outsiders get past them. I promise you, Aventus, this place is safe and you can stay here as long as you like. And we will find the Other Brotherhood and we will make sure they don't come after you again.”

 

Aventus dried his eyes, something in Delphine's quiet confidence giving him hope. “Are you gonna kill 'em?” he asked.

 

“Ooh Listener, are we?” Cicero cried, jumping up and down in delight. “Are we, are we, are we? Please say yes.”

 

Delphine glared at Cicero and he promptly piped down. “I'm hoping it won't come to that,” said Delphine. “But if we have to, we have to.” She got to her feet, wincing a little. “You must all be exhausted,” she said, looking them over. “Cicero, why don't you show Calixto and Aventus the sleeping accommodation while I have a word with Aranea and Sapphire. Take yourself to bed once you're done with that, I won't need you today, I don't think.”

 

“My Listener is too kind,” said Cicero, looking pathetically grateful at the thought of sleep in a comfy bed. “Come, come, kind brother and honoured guest must follow me, Cicero will show you where the bedrooms are. Follow me!” He skipped off up one of the ramps, presumably towards said bedrooms. Aventus let Calixto take him by the hand and followed, sparing one last glance for Delphine.

 

“Thank you, ma'am,” he said, bowing politely. “You're really nice, you know, for the leader of the Dark Brotherhood.”

 

“You're welcome,” said Delphine with a smile. “It's not often we get such charming company.”

 

Aventus blushed and followed Calixto out. Delphine's smile faded as she turned to Aranea and Sapphire.

 

“What do they know?” she asked, without preamble. “I take it they know about Hjerim.”

 

“It looks that way,” said Aranea. “I wouldn't be surprised if they have descriptions of Calixto and me – if they've been talking to our clients, they've probably spoken to Muiri as well. That's probably how they found out someone else is taking on Brotherhood contracts.”

 

“I should never have told Calixto to make it so damn obvious Aventus' victim was a Brotherhood kill,” said Delphine softly. “Pointed them straight to the poor kid. Damnit, he should never have been dragged into this.”

 

“Hey, he performed the Sacrament, right?” said Sapphire. “Looks like the kid dragged himself into this. When we told him he'd have to come with us, he thought it was the biggest adventure ever. Of course, he hadn't met Cicero at that point.”

 

“Oh Talos, Cicero,” Delphine sighed. “That poor boy's going to have nightmares about jesters for years.”

 

“At least he'll be alive to have them,” said Aranea, patting Delphine on the shoulder.

 

“That's if Astrid and friends don't get their way,” said Delphine. “This is not good news, is it? From their point of view, we're stealing their business. If I were Astrid... well, speaking as me, if I found out some group of cheats were going around claiming to be the Dark Brotherhood and carrying out contracts that should be going to us... I'd track them down and take Cicero along and turn him loose. I don't know who they've got, but I'd be very surprised if they didn't have someone like him for those occasions where you don't just want death, you want mayhem.”

 

“I won't lie, they're all good at their jobs,” said Sapphire, coming to stand at Delphine's other shoulder. “But I can tell you there is no one in their ranks like Cicero, no one. He's worth three of them on his own. Astrid's smart, but she's nothing like as resourceful as you. They've got two mages, so have we. They've got a Shadowscale and Alik'r, we've got the Butcher of Windhelm and we've got me. We are a match for them, Delphine. We can take them if it comes to a fight. Shor's teeth, Delphine, you've got an army of Forsworn on your doorstep all apparently doing anything Eola wants, and that old guy in charge of them letting her twist him around her finger like he's her father. Take a few of them along if it's numbers you want.”

 

“He is her father,” said Delphine, beginning to smile. “Also it turns out the Forsworn revere Sithis as one of the old gods. Bet you didn't know that.”

 

Sapphire and Aranea exchanged glances and began to smile in turn.

 

“We did not,” said Aranea. “But we are now beginning to understand. I would wager Astrid knows none of this. She certainly cannot yet know we're here, even if she eventually finds out about the Forsworn helping us. Delphine, we'll need to face them at some point, I agree. But right now, Sapphire's willing to tell us who they are, what their strengths and weaknesses are, where their Sanctuary is and what the passphrase is, and they don't know even half of that about us. We're still ahead of them.”

 

“For now,” said Delphine. “But how long will it stay that way?”

 

“Who knows,” said Aranea. “They may catch up, they may even overtake us. But if they do... that is when we shall see them in plain view, and that is when we will stab them in the back.”

 

“In the mean time,” said Sapphire, looking thoughtful, “now that we have a proper Sanctuary, maybe it's time we looked the part in other ways too. Yeah, you've got your shiny new armour, and that's great for people trained to use it. But we're Dark Brotherhood assassins. We're all used to lighter armour than that, and we'd never sneak up on people if we were dressed in that stuff.”

 

“What are you getting at, Sapphire?” Delphine asked, feeling only slightly offended at the Akaviri armour being rejected. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted the Dark Brotherhood wearing it anyway.

 

“I've still got my old Shrouded Armour from before,” said Sapphire. “I know how to make it too. I know you had an arcane enchanter brought in here – get me lots of leather, lots of filled soul gems, and some black and red dye, I can get all of us kitted out. Can make you some Shrouded Robes too if you like, Aranea. Makes you stealthier and better at Destruction spells. What do you reckon? I think it'll give us one daedra of a boost if we can show up to a fight in the same gear they've got.”

 

“You could really do that?” Delphine asked, amazed. It hadn't even occurred to her to look into acquiring proper Dark Brotherhood armour – she wouldn't have had a clue where to start.

 

“Sure! Just get me the raw materials,” Sapphire replied.

 

“Make it so, then,” said Delphine, barely able to conceal her glee. “Get some rest first, then give a list to Eola. She'll sort you out.”

 

Sapphire and Aranea both took this as an opportunity to go and find some proper beds, and after a night on the road, Delphine could hardly blame them. Taking a seat at the head of the table, she began to plot. This was a fight which could only have one winner... and she fully intended it to be her.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

With the addition of the two new incidents – if incident wasn't too weak a word for a public assassination in one city and a jailbreak/massacre in another – Astrid's Murder Board had now moved from her usual desk to the Word Wall in the main hallway. Night and day, she was now found sitting cross-legged in front of it, racking her brains for new insights.

 

“They're escalating,” she whispered. “Almost like they want us to find them, like they're _daring_ us to rise to the challenge.”

 

“Wife, please, are you coming to bed?” Arnbjorn asked wearily. “It's gone midnight.”

 

“In a second,” said Astrid, distracted. “The answer is here, I just know it. So we have the Dunmer, Calixto and the Young Nord in Solitude, taking out Vici at her own damn wedding. Trying to pin it on the Thalmor too, nice move. Won't hold up to serious scrutiny, but if they wanted to sow the seeds of political chaos, they've done it nicely. And still no one has any idea why or who ordered it. My gut says someone on the Stormcloak side, but...”

 

Arnbjorn took matters into his own hands and slid his arms around his wife, nibbling on her neck. “Wife. Come to bed. You have been staring at it all day.”

 

“Not now, darling,” said Astrid, frowning. “I need to work out how Markarth fits into it all. Old Nord, young Breton and the Jester kill Thonar Silver-Blood, turn themselves in and then escape a prison everyone swears no one can escape from, along with all its Forsworn prisoners. They must have wanted to carry out the jailbreak or they wouldn't have let themselves get caught, but who would hire them to do that? The Forsworn? They've never hired us, ever. We had a few Reachmen and women join before now, but since the Listener died and the Sacrament stopped working, they've avoided us completely. Why they'd now hire a Brotherhood cell, and how did they find them? The Forsworn talk to no one! Unless...” She reached for her quill, breaking out of her husband's grasp and scribbled YOUNG BRETON – FORSWORN AGENT?? in the Markarth section. “But that still doesn't explain how she found them to join up with. How are they doing it, Arnbjorn? How are they taking on these high-profile and difficult jobs and carrying them out before we've even heard of the client needing anyone??”

 

“I couldn't say, dearest,” Arnbjorn growled. “How about you join me in our nice, warm, comfortable double bed where we can have at it like wild beasts and then sleep, and then you can look at it all in the morning with fresh eyes, hmm?”

 

Bed did sound tempting, Astrid had to admit. But she was so close, she could feel it. She was almost there, there was just some piece of the puzzle, some missing link, if she could only think what it was. Maybe when Gabriella finally got back, she might have something.

 

“Astrid. I know who the Dunmer is.”

 

Gabriella's voice rang out loud and clear across the Sanctuary. Astrid spun round, leaping to her feet. Gabriella strode forward grimly, but was that something akin to heartbreak in her eyes? Surely not.

 

Arnbjorn muttered something most uncharitable under his breath and stalked out, resigned to not having Astrid share his bed that night. Astrid ignored him. This was far more important.

 

“Who? Who is she? How did you find her?”

 

“I know more than one seer, Astrid,” said Gabriella miserably. “Back in Morrowind, the Sanctuaries there had our own pet priestess of Azura. She sold us her services because she had no coin to pay her contract with. She was our healer, counsellor, prophetess and a firm ally against the Morag Tong. She saved many of us from Red Mountain by warning us the eruption was coming. So I went to visit her as well as Olava, see what Azura had to tell me.”

 

“And?” said Astrid, wondering why Gabriella looked like she was about to cry. “What did she have to say?”

 

“That's just it, Astrid. She – she wasn't there. No sign of violence or a struggle, looked like she'd just packed up her things and gone.”

 

“Gone? Gone where?” Astrid asked, and then it clicked. “Sithis, you think...”

 

“She's our Dunmer,” Gabriella whispered, her voice catching on the words as the tears started to fall. “Aranea Ienith's started her own Brotherhood cell.”

 

Astrid found her arms suddenly full of sobbing Dunmer. It was all she could do to pat the other woman on the back and try to comfort her, but there wasn't an awful lot of comfort to give. If this Ienith woman had truly started the rival cell, she would have to die, no question. However, there was one crumb of consolation to offer.

 

“What makes you think Aranea's the leader?” Astrid asked, stroking Gabriella's hair.

 

“Well of course she is, she's smart, lethal, knows how we work, why wouldn't it be her?” Gabriella sniffled.

 

“Really,” said Astrid. “Explain to me then why, with a cell consisting of seven people, she's running the jobs herself still.”

 

“Seven...” Gabriella's head shot up, the Dunmer clearly amazed. “How- what? There's that many??”

 

Astrid nodded, indicating the Murder Board. “See for yourself. Things have moved on considerably since you left.” She let Gabriella go and took up her quill, writing in ARANEA IENITH – SEER OF THE BROTHERHOOD.

 

Gabriella was staring at the rest of it, stunned. “Sweet Sithis, Astrid. Are you serious? They jailbroke Cidhna Mine??”

 

Astrid nodded. “Seriously. Whoever they are, they've got balls, I'll give them that.”

 

Gabriella traced her finger along the line referring to a jester. “Jester... Astrid, there were travellers in Winterhold the night Nelacar was killed. A young Breton woman who was seen talking to him, and an older man with her, looked to be late thirties? Astrid, he was wearing _a jester's hat._ ”

 

Astrid promptly nudged Gabriella out of the way and started scribbling.

 

“I knew you'd have something for me, I knew it!” Astrid cried, utterly delighted by the way this was panning out. “So Nelacar was one of theirs! Don't suppose you have a client too?”

 

“I think it might have been Aranea. At least, I assumed it was. Apparently he'd been kicked out of the College after some research experiment gone wrong. It involved Azura's Star.”

 

Astrid's eyes widened at the mention of the legendary artefact. “Really?? It still exists? Well, if this mage really was involved in attempting to misuse it, no wonder Aranea wanted him dead. And assuming she doesn't have any more coin now than she did back in Morrowind, I can only assume she's taken up her old role. More than that, if all this is anything to go by. Whoever's running this show has persuaded her to actually kill this time.”

 

“That's not good,” said Gabriella, shuddering. “She always said before that her vows to Azura prevented her actually taking contracts, but she was willing to help us out in any other way. I wonder what changed? Maybe Azura wants her to kill this time. If she had visions, maybe they're what's telling them where to find clients.”

 

“Azura the Daedric Prince of the Twilight getting involved in Dark Brotherhood business?” said Astrid sceptically. “I don't think so. All the same, they're getting information from somewhere. If we can't find a mundane source, it's possible magic may be involved. What did Olava have to say?”

 

“That's the strange thing,” said Gabriella. “I asked her what she could tell me about this false Brotherhood and she just laughed. Told me not to be so silly, there was no false Brotherhood, just new brothers and sisters I'd not met yet. Said the old blade would make everything new for us, and we'd be fine if we just remembered that mother knows best. Astrid, I fear she may actually be mad.”

 

Astrid's quill snapped on the paper. She'd gone very pale, and Gabriella could swear she was actually shaking.

 

“Astrid?” Gabriella asked. “There's no other Brotherhood group but us, no real one, right? Astrid?”

 

Astrid had already turned and run back to her bedroom. Within minutes she was back, scanning a letter.

 

“Yes, yes, sent 17th Last Seed,” said Astrid softly. “Saying he was setting out from Dawnstar and that he'd be with us within a week. What is it now, Heartfire? Almost Frostfall. And yet no sign of him.”

 

“No sign of who?” Gabriella asked, feeling her spine prickling. “Who's the letter from?”

 

“Cicero,” said Astrid, her voice almost caressing the syllables of the name. It sounded to Gabriella's ears like a portent of doom. “He's the Keeper of the Night Mother. I didn't know anyone in Cyrodiil had survived all the trouble, but apparently he managed it and kept the Night Mother safe too. He was on his way here, with the Night Mother, said he was hoping he might find a new Listener among us. But that was weeks ago...”

 

“You think something happened to him?” Gabriella asked. “Or... no. You don't seriously think he's... Is he insane? Setting up a group on his own?”

 

Astrid didn't respond. The words CICERO – KEEPER OF THE NIGHT MOTHER appeared on the paper and underneath, the phrase LISTENER OF THE DARK BROTHERHOOD?

 

“A Listener...” Gabriella breathed. “Sithis take us.”

 

Astrid didn't reply. She'd thrown her quill to the floor and was now walking slowly back towards her bedroom, shoulders hunched, head lowered.

 

“Astrid?” Gabriella called after her. “Where are you going? What does this mean? Astrid? Astrid!!”

 

No reply. Astrid was gone, presumably to seek solace in her husband's arms. Gabriella stared up at the abandoned Murder Board and wished she had that option.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The mood in the Falkreath Sanctuary was a sombre one the next morning. Everyone was gathered around the Murder Board in stunned silence, not one able to believe what Astrid had written. When she finally emerged from her bedroom, Arnbjorn trailing behind, no one really knew what to say.

 

Astrid glanced at the Murder Board and to everyone's surprise, actually smiled.

 

“Cicero the Jester isn't the Listener.”

 

“But there is one,” said Nazir. “The Night Mother, after twelve years of silence, suddenly started talking to some random stranger, and this... Cicero has run off with them to set up their own Dark Brotherhood group.”

 

“It looks that way,” said Astrid.

 

Babette was the first to speak up. “So what does that mean for us? I mean, if you'd been writing to this Cicero guy, he must know about us. So why haven't they got in touch? Wouldn't you?”

 

“Hardly,” Astrid laughed. “Would you walk into a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary and tell them you were their new leader, their long-awaited anointed one? I think not.”

 

“Not long-awaited by us,” said Veezara. “We have done well without a Night Mother, without a Listener for years. We don't need one now.”

 

“But they're taking our business!” Gabriella argued back. “How are we meant to compete with them when we're relying on gossip and rumour to find clients, while they're hearing details straight from the Night Mother. It's one daedra of an advantage. They're not being led by an idiot either. Whoever this new Listener is, they're very very bright.”

 

“She certainly is,” said Astrid, taking out a fresh quill. Crossing out the question mark at the end of the phrase LISTENER OF THE DARK BROTHERHOOD, she drew an arrow linking it with the words OLDER BRETON. “That's her. Their Listener. Their link with their contracts. A woman in her prime, presumably previous experience in the military or as a housecarl or something similar. She may even be a mage or ex-Thieves Guild. They're keeping her close, keeping her away from the jobs. Everyone else in the cell has been observed on at least one job but not her. There for decoration or a servant? Or someone too precious to risk.”

 

“We take her out, their entire operation falls apart,” Arnbjorn growled. “Good thinking, wife of mine.”

 

“Wait just a minute,” Festus protested. “You can't surely be thinking of assassinating the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood?? I know the old ways are in the past, but she's been hand-picked by Sithis! Is this wise?”

 

Astrid burst out laughing. “Oh my brothers and sisters. Is that really what you think of me? Oh no, I have something much better in mind. We're not going to kill their Listener. We're going to _steal her._ ”

 

“Steal her,” said Babette. “As in... take her prisoner.”

 

Astrid nodded. “They're a new group, an inexperienced group. With her in our hands, they'll fall apart. Once they've surrendered, we take the Night Mother, we hold the Listener, we get the contracts and we get the coin. As for the group, if any of them are willing to join us, we'll take them on. If not, or they get any foolish notions of trying to liberate their Listener, we slaughter them all. Apart from this Cicero. For trying to keep this secret from me? The jester dies first. Slowly and painfully.”

 

“I always hated jesters,” Nazir grinned, fingering his scimitar.

 

“But how are we going to get hold of her?” Festus asked. “We don't even know where their base is – that house in Windhelm certainly isn't their main home, that's if they've not worked out yet that we're on to them and abandoned it.”

 

Astrid's grin broadened. “Don't worry, Festus. I have a plan. We're going to make them come to us.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Sapphire watched pensively as Eola went over the list she'd been given.

 

“Well? Can you get it all or not?” she asked. Eola glanced up, met her eye and smiled.

 

“Sure! Got a whole army of Forsworn hunters out there, plus me and the Champ. Ma left plenty of soul gems lying around, and there's a few here too, some were already here and some in Delphine's stuff. Don't worry, we'll get 'em filled and get you some pelts into the bargain. Plenty of bears and sabre cats up in the hills. Wouldn't call them easy prey, but we're not exactly milk drinkers ourselves, are we?” She looked at the rest of the list. “Dye, awls, needles, tape measure, cotton thread, reams of cloth. Easy, you can get all this in Markarth at Arnleif and Sons. I'll send you a note to give to Lisbet, she's the shopkeeper there. She knows you're a friend of mine, she'll give you a discount. You were going to pay for all this, I trust?”

 

“Yeah, of course I was,” said Sapphire hastily. Both knew she was lying, but Eola elected not to call her on it. This time.

 

Eola looked at the final item and blinked. “Dragon scales?” she queried. “Well, we do have a load – Cicero collects them from every dragon he kills, and that's been quite a few of them. Why, though? They're not a traditional component of Shrouded Armour, surely?”

 

“Thought I might do something a bit different for Cicero,” said Sapphire, shrugging. “Make some special armour for the Dragonborn.”

 

“How did you know about that???” Eola hissed. “Delphine was trying to keep it quiet!”

 

“Guy kills a dragon alongside me at Rorikstead like he's done it a million times,” said Sapphire. “That in itself, not a shock. Then he takes the damn lizard's soul and walks away like it's no big deal? Come on, Eola. I'm a Nord, I heard the stories growing up, I heard rumours in Riften. I know one's turned up for the first time since ever. Didn't expect it to be Cicero though. Still, proves the gods have a sense of humour.”

 

“Doesn't it just,” Eola sighed. “All right, yes, Cicero's the Dragonborn. Just keep it to yourself, it's not something everyone needs to know. And it's why Delphine first took an interest in him. The Blades started out as dragonslayers, and they're sworn to find and guard Dragonborns. So when she found Cicero, she stuck around, trying to befriend him and win him over. She worked out he was transporting the Night Mother quickly enough – the Blades know a bit about the Brotherhood. Then she got called as Listener. Came as a bit of a shock to all concerned, by all accounts.”

 

“I can imagine,” said Sapphire, guessing that Cicero's reaction must have been a sight to behold. “So, seeing as we do have the ultimate dragonslaying hero in our midst, even if he is a murdering little lunatic, how about we make him something a little... different?”

 

Eola looked at Sapphire, curious. “What did you have in mind?”


	14. Honour Thy Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Astrid puts her plans into action, causing no end of trouble among the Karthspire cell. Delphine responds by planning her most risky operation yet, much to Cicero's displeasure, but his fears are mollified a little by some shiny shiny presents...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this may be the proniest thing I've ever written that doesn't have any actual porn. Contains Dark!Cicero coming out to play and it turns out he is a sexy, sexy beast when he's angry.

Two days later, and Delphine pulled on her bathrobe and nightshift, wincing only slightly as her feet touched the cold stone floor. No one had stoked the heater yet this morning, which meant the hot water pipes in the walls weren't yet warming the room. Still, natural light flooded into through the window slits in the roof of the Temple Master's bedroom, leaving patches of warm light on the floor. Also, Delphine had a pair of fur-lined slippers for just such times as this.

 

Cicero was still buried in the blankets and furs that covered what had to be the biggest bed Delphine had ever seen. Cicero had been the one to find it, and he'd taken one look, squealed and dragged her into the room, gesturing at the two chests, several cupboards and two large wardrobes before draping himself seductively over the bed, pouting at her. Needless to say, they'd both moved their things in without any further discussion, and proceeded to put the bed to good use. Delphine glanced at the sleeping Dragonborn and found herself smiling. As she'd done every morning since arriving at the Temple, she silently thanked Talos for sending this one to her. The world seemed such a better place when she woke up to find him there. Strange how someone capable of terrifying the rest of the world could have such a calming effect. Brushing her hair out, she left him sleeping, seeking out the other reason this room appealed – it opened on to what might once have been a store room or office, but was now home to the Night Mother.

 

Settling herself on to the fur rug spread out in front of the coffin, Delphine rearranged the flowers that Cicero had lovingly gathered, lit the candles and opened the coffin's doors.

 

“Hello, Mother,” said Delphine. It was strange how attached she'd actually grown to the mummified corpse. This was turning into a daily ritual, sitting in front of the Night Mother and talking about, well, anything really. How things were going, how everyone was getting on, the contracts, the latest gossip (lately centring on how Calixto clearly had the biggest crush ever on Aranea and if anything was likely to happen there or not, or if Sapphire would get in there first. Delphine personally was rooting for Calixto, not least because she had a ten septim bet going with Eola on this very subject), anything that came into her head. Sometimes the Night Mother talked back, mostly she didn't. Delphine didn't mind. It was just nice being able to talk.

 

“So what have you got for me today?” she asked. “Anyone make any offerings to Sithis lately?”

 

There was silence. Delphine wasn't terribly surprised. It was often this way. Wrapping her robe around herself, she got comfortable.

 

“Sapphire's got the first of the Shrouded Armour ready, she told me last night. We're going to try it today. About time we looked like proper children of Sithis, don't you think? She says Cicero's armour is taking longest – she and Eola are being very secretive about it. I hope it does actually cover the poor boy and doesn't make him look like some sort of sex object. Not that I'd mind that so terribly, but I want him to be safe, you know? Especially as when it's ready, I suppose I have to send him out again to High Hrothgar. Need to find out what that Shout is that can supposedly knock a dragon out of the sky. I think he'll be fine, but I always worry.”

 

“ _Send him nowhere, Listener. You will need him close at hand in the coming days. You will need all your brothers and sisters at your side. Another child has called to their Mother, Delphine. You will need to visit Cracked Tusk Keep in Falkreath... and there speak with your sister Astrid.”_

 

Delphine froze, staring up at the Night Mother in horror.

 

“Astrid. As in the leader of Falkreath Sanctuary.”

 

“ _Indeed. She's slaughtered an entire camp of Orc hunters and used their leader's body to perform the Black Sacrament. Quite impressive. Of course, she's on a misguided path and is misusing the sacred rite for her own ends. You cannot trust her.”_

 

“Well, I'd gathered that!” Delphine cried. “What does she want? She can't possibly need someone killing.”

 

“ _You, Listener. She wants to hear the prayers of the needy for herself. Her desire to return to her Mother is touching. Her desire to wipe out the competition is not.”_

 

“Wipe us out?” Delphine felt her blood boiling at the very thought. “Does she know who she's dealing with?”

 

“ _She knows more of your names and your deeds than you think, Listener. She is dangerous, make no mistake. You must be careful, very careful. She has already marked our Keeper for death if she gets the opportunity.”_

 

Delphine couldn't stop herself crying out at that. “No, no she can't!” Delphine whispered, all too familiar images of Cicero being stabbed by Thalmor or lying burnt on the floor of the Flagon flashing before her eyes. “Not my Cicero! I'll kill her first, damn her!”

 

“ _Patience, child.”_ The Night Mother did not sound unsympathetic. _“It is not the will of Sithis for either you or the Keeper to die just yet. Nevertheless the risk is there. Be wary, Delphine. This will be a challenge, even for you.”_

 

“So what do I do?” Delphine asked, desperate for answers. “Walk into her trap?”

 

“ _Do what you always do, my daughter. Meet with her and negotiate in good faith. Plan carefully, make the most of your strengths, find a creative solution. I have faith in you, my Delphine. My preference is for my children to work together, not slaughter each other. One Family united, not two at war. If you can resolve this without bloodshed, do so. Still, Astrid has misused the Sacrament. So if negotiations fail... you have my permission to kill her and any who don't surrender.”_

 

“Understood,” said Delphine, shivering. Getting up, she returned to the bed, where Cicero was finally stirring. Her Cicero. Her beautiful, strong, lethal Cicero Dragonborn. _Let Astrid try and take him. He is mine, dammit!_

 

“Good morning, sweetest Delphine,” he murmured, propping himself up on one elbow, sultry eyes following her every move. Normally, she'd have taken full advantage of the unspoken invitation and crawled back under the sheets with him, but the Night Mother's news had shaken her composure to the extent that she wasn't sure even Cicero's skin next to hers could restore it.

 

“Delphine?” Cicero asked, concerned. “Is everything alright? Are you well?” He pulled himself upright, noticing the open door to the Night Mother's shrine and realising where she'd been. “Delphine, is it Mother? Did something happen? Is she hurt? Is she angry with you or – or us?”

 

“No,” said Delphine miserably. She sat down on the bed, resting her head in her hands. Seconds later, she felt Cicero's arms slide around her, a gentle kiss planted on her cheek. Turning around, she let her head rest against his shoulder, holding on to him for all she was worth. It wasn't normally her in this position – usually it would be Cicero taking advantage of being half an inch shorter and snuggling up to her. Right now though, she wanted comfort and didn't care how it made her look. She wanted to feel Cicero in her arms, listen to his heart beating and be reminded he was alive. _Not my Cicero. Please, not my Cicero._

 

“Delphine,” she heard Cicero say, sounding rather desperate. Clearly the concept of him being the strong one for once didn't sit entirely well with him either. “Please, will you tell Cicero what is going on? He is worried about you.” He was rubbing her back now, holding her closely and kissing the top of her head. “Please, beloved Listener. Who needs to die?”

 

“Astrid's performed the Black Sacrament,” Delphine heard herself say. “She... she wants to use it to trap me and take me and the Night Mother prisoner so her group will get the contracts. And then I think she's going to kill the rest of you. Starting with you.” Delphine heard her voice cracking and felt the tears in her eyes. She clung on to Cicero, hardly daring to see how he was taking it. “I've got to go and talk to her and _negotiate_ with her and try to bring us all together as one big happy Family, all the while knowing she's planning... planning to kill mine. Planning to kill my Dragonborn.” She tightened her grip on him, torn between wanting to burst into tears and tearing something or someone apart in sheer fury.

 

“That defiling little _harlot._ ” The words came out in a soft whisper more threatening than if he'd screamed the words. Delphine bit back a moan, feeling a stab of arousal in her loins. She made a mental note to get him to use that voice more often, preferably detailing in great detail what he'd like to do to her enemies. Maybe next time they made love...

 

“She is not taking my Listener,” Cicero continued, still using that same dangerous voice, tightening his grip on her. “She is not getting her filthy hands on Mother. Cicero will kill her first. Cicero would kill anyone who threatened Mother.” He paused, still holding her for all he was worth. “Cicero will _destroy_ anyone who harms his Listener.”

 

“Oh Sithis,” Delphine whispered. “Sithis, but you are _sexy_ when you're angry.”

 

“Delphine would not want me to bed her in this mood,” Cicero growled. “Cicero

is not feeling terribly loving right now. Murder, on the other hand, now that I could do. Shall I go to Falkreath and slaughter them all for you? It would be very little trouble. A positive delight, in fact.”

 

“No!” Delphine cried. “No, Mother wants us to try and negotiate first. And... and you can't go, Cicero. Astrid knows who you are. She's marked you personally. I don't know why, I don't know if it's as a way of hurting me, or punishing you for not bringing me to her earlier, but either way I can't send you. I can't risk you, Cicero, I just can't. Not my Dragonborn. The world needs you... and so do I.”

 

She clung on to him as she made the admission, realising she was actually shaking. She'd never intended things to get this far, but he was sweet and charming and good-looking, and the sex had been all kinds of filthy and fabulous, not to mention the constant adoration had quite turned her head. Now feelings had gone and got themselves involved and here she was, falling apart in his arms and telling him she couldn't do without him. _Damn you, Cicero, how did you make me fall in love with you?_

 

She felt his grip on her relaxing as he began to stroke her hair, placing little kisses on the top of her head.

 

“Pretty, pretty Listener,” he cooed. “Cicero's pretty Listener, safe in the arms of Listener's pretty Cicero. Listener should not trouble herself so. Cicero shall keep hidden and out of sight. Astrid and her sheepdog, her unchild, her lizard, her other pets, they are no match for sly Cicero, no! Cicero will not let himself get caught in their snares, do not fear. But he has no intention of letting you get caught either.” He pushed her hair back from her face and lifted her chin up so she was facing him. She couldn't help but shiver as she looked into those deep, dark eyes, unholy and black like the Void itself. Sithis-blessed indeed.

 

“No one harms my Listener. No one threatens my sweet Delphine. _No one._ Cicero will kill any who try. Does my Listener truly understand that? Does she truly know how much Cicero adores and treasures her?” He was smiling, tracing his long fingers against her cheek, then down her neck and chest, between her breasts and coming to rest on her hip.

 

“Maybe you should show me,” Delphine whispered, finding herself suddenly breathless. Cicero smirked, looking away as he did so.

 

“Delphine, this won't do. I'm in the least loving mood imaginable, and here you are, enticing me with your womanly wiles, talking of life and death and darkness. All Cicero has ever wanted is to be allowed to adore and please you, be your Fool of Hearts, curled up in happy servitude and here you are, raising Cicero the man's most primal urges. You're calling up all his most violent protective instincts and then getting in the way! Delphine, please. Don't encourage me. If you want me like this, chain me up at least. Cicero the man was a bad, bad person. You do not want him in your bed, my lovely.”

 

“You're still a bad person,” said Delphine, but something he'd said had got her thinking. Chains... and Astrid's likely weak spot. She smiled grimly.

 

“I know how we're going to bring them to the table,” she said softly. “Today, we prepare. Tomorrow, we move. And right now... you're going to fuck me very, very hard and you're going to leave a few marks. At least one will be visible. You're going to sink all that protective rage into the act. Come on, you know you want to.”

 

Cicero inhaled sharply at her words. “Listener, you cannot be serious.”

 

“Never more so,” Delphine growled. “There need to be marks, it's an essential part of the plan. Now, are you going to do as you're told, or do I need to feed you lurid descriptions of what terrible things Astrid might do to me to break my spirit once she has me prisoner?”

 

Next thing she knew, she was on her back, pinned to the bed, Cicero above her, fury in his eyes.

 

“The filthy, blasphemous strumpet is going nowhere near you,” he hissed. “You're mine! Cicero's Listener, not Astrid's! She cannot have you, no! Cicero will die before that happens!”

 

“Then do as you're told,” said Delphine. Cicero closed his eyes, before finally opening them, heavy-lidded with lust and love and fury and everything in between.

 

“Forgive me,” he whispered, before sinking his teeth into her shoulder.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Ah, there you are, my dear, I was just wondering where you were, I've found this ancient list of dragon-” Esbern stopped midsentence at the sight before him. Delphine was dressed in her simple innkeeper dress, hair unbound, lying back in Cicero's arms as he carried her along the corridor.

 

“Hello Esbern,” she purred, a rather triumphant smile on her face. Esbern stared at her neck and chest, both lavishly decorated with lurid purple bruises.

 

“What in Oblivion happened to you?” Esbern asked, before glaring at Cicero. Cicero shut his eyes and looked away guiltily.

 

“Oh you don't want to know,” Delphine murmured, still a little breathless. “Esbern, why don't you go and spend some time in the library for a bit? I need to address the others.”

 

“Like that?” Esbern asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you normally tumble from bed into addressing your underlings?”

 

“It's addressing one underling that got her into this state in the first place,” Cicero muttered.

 

“Quiet,” said Delphine. “You've done your part, my dear. Now I need to brief the others. Esbern, best make yourself scarce.”

 

Esbern had no problems whatsoever with that. Frankly, he didn't want to know.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Hey, Delphine!” Eola called as they emerged into the main hall. “Look at me, I have Shrouded Armour!” It was true, she was wearing Shrouded Armour from the head down, and her Helmet of the Old Gods on her head. “Don't I look sweet- ohhh.” She stopped dead, took one look at Delphine and promptly sank into a chair, lost for words.

 

“Aventus. Your room. Now,” said Calixto, giving the boy a little nudge.

 

“Why's Cicero carrying her, is she tired?” Aventus asked, frowning. “And what's with the bruises, is she ill?”

 

“Yes, but she'll be fine,” Calixto lied, having a horrible feeling that no one had ever told the boy about... certain things and equally sure that it might well be him having to have that conversation in the not too distant future. “Go. I think our Listener wishes to hold a business meeting.”

 

“Oh. Business,” Aventus grinned. “Sure. I get it.” Grinning, he ran off, leaving the adults alone.

 

“Sweet Sithis,” Aranea murmured, watching as Cicero lowered Delphine gently into her chair at the head of the table and took a seat at her right hand side, head bowed and looking more wretched than she'd ever seen him. “Delphine, what happened?”

 

“Exactly what I wanted to happen,” Delphine smiled, her eyes hazy. “Cicero is such a good boy sometimes.”

 

“I bet he is,” Eola whispered, still staring at her as if in a trance.

 

Sapphire took a seat next to Aranea. “'Nea, didn't you tell me it was usually Cicero prancing around the place and flaunting his love bites?”

 

Aranea nodded. “Normally, yes. I'd... not thought Delphine was the type to go in for the, er, rougher end of things.”

 

“I'm not,” said Delphine, gingerly pulling herself into an upright position. “But just this once, I needed to look... ravaged.”

 

“Oh, you got that right,” said Eola vaguely, reaching for a nearby glass of juniper juice.

 

“Mission accomplished,” said Calixto. “But if you don't mind my asking... why??”

 

“I need to look weak, unthreatening and a victim,” said Delphine calmly. “I know, it takes some doing.” Next to her, Cicero let out a sob. Delphine stroked his arm in an effort to soothe him.

 

“You did well, my dear. I won't make you do it again, don't worry. If it makes you feel any better, I'll be sure to thrash you soundly after this is all done.”

 

Cicero laughed nervously. “Not the point,” he whispered. Eola finally tore her eyes away from Delphine to look at Cicero.

 

“Champ, you look awful, are you alright?” she asked.

 

“No,” said Cicero sadly. “Sister, we can talk later. Hear the Listener out.”

 

Silence fell as four assassins listened intently, all curious.

 

“Astrid knows.”

 

Still silence, but faces had hardened in response. Cicero in particular looked more coldly furious than anyone except Delphine had ever seen him.

 

“You all have Shrouded gear. That's good,” Delphine noted, nodding in approval at the outfits. “Astrid's performed the Sacrament. She wants to meet us – well, me anyway – at Cracked Tusk Keep.”

 

“I know it,” said Sapphire grimly. “It's about twenty minutes from their Sanctuary. A mini Orc stronghold, but we tolerated it. They weren't bad neighbours, kept themselves to themselves. Well, guess they don't any more.”

 

“So what are we doing?” Aranea asked. “Meeting them or fighting?”

 

“Meeting them. Or at least, I am,” said Delphine. “Of course, she fully intends to take me prisoner in the hope I'll betray you all in exchange for my life, so she can claim the Night Mother and get the contracts. Obviously that's not going to happen, but I intend to encourage her in this belief right up until it becomes apparent it's not her who'll be giving orders to me. Hence the need to look helpless and abused.”

 

“Delphine plans to walk unarmed and unarmoured right into the blasphemer's trap!” Cicero burst out. “With not even her Cicero at her side to guard her. Listener, Listener, is there no other way?”

 

“No,” said Delphine gently. “But don't worry. You won't be far away. In fact, you're crucial to this whole thing working.”

 

Cicero perked up a little at that. “Really? Is there sneaking and stabbing to be done? Ooh! You wish Cicero to sneak up on them and stab Astrid while you distract her! Or did you merely want me to take a few others out while you fight Astrid?”

 

“In a way,” Delphine grinned. “You'll need to do plenty of sneaking, but hopefully no stabbing. You do however get to threaten with a knife and generally look insane and frightening. Think you can manage that?”

 

Cicero squealed, clapping his hands in delight. “Ooh yes, Listener! Cicero can manage that quite well indeed.”

 

“Excellent,” said Delphine, turning to Sapphire. “Now, Sapphire, you say you know the passphrase to their Sanctuary, right? And Eola, think your father will mind lending us a few people?”

 

“I'm sure he'd love to,” said Eola.

 

“Good. Also, this is a bit of a long shot, but I don't suppose there's any old Hagraven techniques for binding werewolves into their human form? I've heard stories of such a thing being possible but never seen it done.”

 

“It's possible,” said Eola thoughtfully. “Not pleasant for the poor wolfie, but it's possible. Ma had something for that very purpose – saw her use it on someone once. I can see if it's still in her things?”

 

“You do that. We'll need it. Alright folks, gather round. This is what we're going to do...”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Eola's voice was kind, kind and gentle, too kind and gentle for poor Cicero who deep down was anything but, he knew that.

 

Eola sat down next to him. He'd left Delphine in the main room to carry on with the planning and discussions and stepped outside to get some air. Now Cicero was crouched on the temple steps, staring out at the view over the Reach.

 

“Does Cicero look it to you?” Cicero asked, misery writ large all over his face. Eola slipped her arms around him, letting him rest his head on her shoulder.

 

“Champ, she's fine. Really. She's not injured, she's not even seriously hurt, and she'd clearly had one daedra of an orgasm not long prior. Looks like whatever happened, she was in total control the entire time.”

 

“Cicero wasn't,” he whispered. Eola stroked his hair, beginning to guess what was bothering him.

 

“You didn't like doing it? Or... you did, didn't you? You enjoyed hurting her and now you can't face yourself or her.”

 

Cicero nodded, tear rolling down his cheek. “Never again,” he whispered. “Many years ago, back in Bruma, Cicero was a charming and handsome young man, and never lacked for company if he wished it. But he never loved any of them, no, and so he used to indulge in the most vile cruelties with the women he bedded. He was... he was not a good man, sister. Some say he still isn't, but he has some principles these days. Bruma Sanctuary was destroyed and Cicero still wonders if perhaps the townsfolk might not have let it happen if Cicero had not debased so many of their daughters. He could not live with the guilt, and when he went to Cheydinhal and met sweet Andronica, he swore to change his ways. He let her use him, treat him as he'd treated others. He surrendered unto her and he knew peace at last. Knew freedom from guilt. He was happy, so very happy, and he fell in love and became happier still. Then he lost it all again. Now he has Delphine and he thought... he thought he was safe forever. Even with the dragon souls consuming him from within, he thought that particular monster was safe. That he did not need to worry. That his beautiful Listener would keep him on a tight leash. Now...”

 

“She let you off the leash,” said Eola, understanding. “Namira's mercy, Cicero. No wonder you're scared. Have you told her any of this?”

 

Cicero shook his head. “It would distract her. Upset her. She needs to be focused. A distracted Listener is a dead Listener, especially outside a Sanctuary, defenceless, without Cicero at her side. Cicero cannot, Eola. Not now.”

 

“All right,” said Eola gently. “But after we've sorted things out with the Falkreath Sanctuary, you tell her, right? You tell her what you told me, and you tell her you're never hurting her again, no matter how much she asks. She wants to see your inner psychopath let loose, we'll lure a stranger back here for you both to play with. If we get lucky, maybe we'll even find someone who's into that sort of thing who thinks jesters are hot, and gets off on being watched by terrifying older women.”

 

Cicero did laugh at that, and next thing she knew, she was being squeezed to within an inch of her life. Cicero planted a big, wet kiss on her cheek, and let her go, beaming at her.

 

“See, Cicero knew you would be able to help!” he giggled, squeezing her hand. “Cicero is so very glad he has dear Eola for a sister. She understands him!”

 

“Well, we're not so different, you and I,” said Eola. “Hey, Sapphire says she's done with your armour. Want to give it a go?”

 

Cicero squealed and leapt to his feet, clapping his hands in delight. Eola took him by the hand and led him inside to see Sapphire's creation.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Said creation was laid out on a table in Sapphire's workroom next door to the armoury. Cicero bounced in, eager to see what she'd made him, and stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't Shrouded Armour.

 

“I thought I'd do something different for you,” said Sapphire, tracing admiring hands over its leather surface. “You like?”

 

Cicero stared at it, lost for words. Black leather, padding at the shoulders, dragonscales on the sleeves and on the black leather trousers that went with it, and from the look of it, dragonscales were sewn into the chest and back as well, hidden behind the red lining. Twin tails akin to the ones on his jester shirt that hung down from the waist, and fastenings up the front. A red handprint painted on the front, and as Sapphire turned it over, the Akaviri Dragonborn symbol in red leather sewed on to the back. The gloves and boots looked more like the standard shrouded set, but the colours had been reversed – what was normally black was now red, and vice versa.

 

Eola nudged him in the side. “Well, say something! We put a lot of work into this. Well, Sapphire did, I was more of a design consultant.”

 

“The Dragonborn symbol was her idea,” said Sapphire. “Also the idea of using different enchantments. Sure, the boots still have a muffle spell on them, and the gloves still do the whole backstab thing, but we put fire resistance on the armour, not poison. Haven't bothered doing headgear, but your hat'll go nicely with it, we think.”

 

Cicero stared it in longing, running his fingers along the sleeve. “Cicero does not know what to say,” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “It's beautiful! He does not deserve this!”

 

“Try it on, try it on!” Eola urged him. Cicero promptly grabbed the armour and disappeared behind a nearby Akaviri screen set up for this very purpose. A few minutes later, he emerged, brushing himself down as he adjusted the fit a little.

 

Sapphire nodded, impressed with her handiwork. “Oh yes. Yes, that'll do nicely. What do you think, Cicero?”

 

Cicero twirled around, watching the tails swirl, and then back again. An experimental little dance followed, then the drawing of the daggers and a few stabbing, slashing and pouncing moves. It ended with Cicero skidding to his knees, blades raised as he slid to a halt at Eola's feet. He grinned at her, winked and slid both daggers back into their sheaths before leaping to his feet.

 

“Well Eola, I think he likes it,” said Sapphire, pleased. “Reckon it suits him?”

 

“I... yeah,” said Eola, lost for words. “Yeah, absolutely. You go, Dragonborn.” She knew it'd be fairly tight-fitting, but she'd not quite expected it to _cling_ as much as it did.

 

“You are both wonderful,” said Cicero, practically glowing with delight. “This... this is the best armour Cicero has ever worn. No one will see or hear me coming, and then Cicero shall stab stab stab stab stab! Stab them all!” He skipped over to Sapphire and hugged her fiercely.

 

“Talented Sapphire is a very dear sister and friend, and Cicero shall never call her a thief again, not unless he is complimenting the way she emptied someone's pockets or got a lock open.” He let her go and skipped over to Eola, who still wasn't quite over the way Cicero moved in that stuff.

 

“Thank you,” was all he said as he pulled her into his arms. “For everything. Cicero is not sure what he would do without his dear sister and best friend. There, Cicero does not say it often, but you are.”

 

Eola hugged him back, tears in her eyes. “Come on, Jester. Let's show you off to Delphine.” She took his hand and led him out of the room.

 

Sapphire cleared her remaining work tools away and followed them out. Somehow, she had a feeling that Eola's love life was about to get as tangled as her own.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

One moment, Delphine had been quietly sketching out a plan of attack based on the various plans Sapphire had drawn for her of Falkreath Sanctuary and environs. The next minute they'd been swept aside and a vision of death in black leather and a jester hat was draping itself across the table.

 

“Cicero has new armour,” said Cicero, grinning. “Does my Listener like it?”

 

Delphine tried very hard to think of some words that actually made coherent sense, but none were coming to mind.

 

“Would my Listener like to see the back as well?” Cicero continued, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Eola had Sapphire put the Akaviri symbol for Dragonborn on the back. It's very nice. Feels... delightful.”

 

“Oh dear Sithis, no, do not turn around, I need to get work done,” said Delphine faintly. The last thing she needed was for Cicero to start showing off his backside in that getup. Looking at his front was bad enough. “Are those... dragonscales sewn into it?”

 

Cicero nodded, still grinning. “Why yes, Delphine, how perceptive of you! Sapphire sewed them in so I would have extra protection. So thoughtful.”

 

Delphine traced his chest, somehow resisting the urge to pull him into her arms and run her hands all over him, breathing in him in. As it is, he was close enough that she could smell the leather.

 

“I wanted them to keep you safe and not make you look like a sex object,” said Delphine. “Looks like they've done both.”

 

Cicero shivered, delighted. “Is my Listener pleased?”

 

“Yes. Very. I need to keep my hands off you though. Need to prepare for tomorrow night's virtuoso performance as Helpless Innkeeper Taken Captive by Cruel and Insane Dark Brotherhood. I can't really get in the mood for that if I end up spending all my time ravishing a leather-clad Dragonborn now, can I?”

 

Cicero's grin faded. “You are still intent on this fool's plan then. When even the Fool himself cannot think it a good idea.”

 

“It's the only way, Cicero,” said Delphine softly, stroking his cheek. Cicero reached up and took her hand away, kissing her fingertips.

 

“Cicero will go along with it then. But he does not like it.” He was gazing into her eyes now, not the seething rage of that morning, but just as intense. “Cicero needs you too, pretty Listener. Not just because the Brotherhood needs a Listener either.” His other hand was sliding around the back of her head, fingers entwining through her hair, bringing her forward. “Cicero loves you, sweetest Delphine. He begs you, take care. Come back to him safely, if you must persevere with this insanity. Only come back safe.”

 

“Yes,” Delphine whispered, heart racing and her mind gone, utterly gone, melting as he'd said he loved her. Not that she hadn't guessed but to hear him say it out loud, and he was close to her, so close now and her lips parted as his mouth met hers. She couldn't stop herself moaning, letting go of his hand so she could run it across his thigh and round to squeeze his arse. Cicero made a happy growling noise in the back of his throat and Delphine broke the kiss before things got any more heated.

 

“I really do have work to do,” she gasped. “And you need to practice a few moves of your own, remember.”

 

Cicero pouted but nodded assent. Delphine smiled, deciding there was something she could do at least.

 

“This all reminds me, I have something for you. We found it in the armoury. I think you should have it.”

 

“Oooh! A present! For poor Cicero?” Cicero leapt off the table, dancing with excitement. “Two presents in one day, Cicero can hardly contain himself! It's not even his birthday.”

 

“When is your birthday anyway?” Delphine asked, taking his hand. “And just how old are you exactly? I want to know the size of the cradle I'm robbing.”

 

Cicero had to think about that one. “Ooh. Good question. Cicero is not sure. Some time in Sun's Dawn, he thinks, but he doesn't remember when. He knows he was 15 when the Brotherhood recruited him, and 25 when he arrived in Cheydinhal, and it was 188 when he became Keeper, so he thinks he may be forty? Perhaps?”

 

“Forty. Hmm. Not so bad. Only fifteen years younger than me, you're not quite young enough to be my son. That's something.”

 

“Cicero had not noticed any age gap,” said Cicero, deploying the charm that had been the bane of Bruma's womenfolk back in his younger days. “Delphine looks as young and beautiful as a woman half the age she says she is.”

 

“Oh, you're such a flirt,” Delphine grinned. “Come on, come see this.”

 

She led him into a small side-room. Blades armour and weapons decorated the room, and on the main table lay a dai-katana, glowing faintly with an enchantment that looked like it might be a shock enchantment of some sort to Cicero's novice eyes.

 

Delphine lifted it off the table and handed it over. “For you, Dragonborn. Esbern thinks it might just be the legendary dragonslaying blade Dragonbane. Reman Cyrodiil wielded it once. Now, well, we think it should be yours. What do you think?”

 

Cicero took it off her, admiring the way it felt and the lightning sparking along the blade. “This... for me?? Delphine, you shouldn't.”

 

“Why not? Dragonbane for the Dragonborn. I can't think of anyone who deserves it more. Shocks anyone you hit with it, but it's especially potent against dragons. I want you to have it. I already have a katana.”

 

Cicero fastened the scabbard to his waist and then stepped out into the main hallway, experimenting with a few moves. It was a sight to behold, Cicero twisting this way and that, Dragonbane slicing through the air, assassin and blade a blur of black, red and purple sparks. Cicero ended by aiming the sword at the candelabra on the table, slicing through the wicks of the candles to extinguish the flames and leaving the wax untouched.

 

“Oh now, that's just showing off,” Eola commented from her seat at the table where she'd been watching all this. From the gallery above Alduin's Wall where the rest of the Brotherhood and guests had been watching, applause broke out. Cicero sheathed Dragonbane and swept a deep bow at his audience.

 

“Well done, Dragonborn,” Esbern called out. “You're a joy to watch with that blade, although less said about how you got those skills the better.”

 

“That was amazing,” Aventus gasped, unable to take his eyes off Cicero. “Divines, I want to be able to do that when I'm older. I wanna be just like you, Cicero.”

 

“Oh sweet Azura, no,” Aranea couldn't restrain herself from saying. She winced a little at the boy's pout, but fortunately Calixto was on hand to rescue the situation.

 

“What my esteemed sister means is that rather than try and be a second Cicero, it would be far better to be the very best Aventus Aretino. Certainly I would urge you not to copy his dress sense – we don't need two jesters.”

 

Aventus pouted at this but subsided. Delphine, feeling rather proud, called them all to attention.

 

“Well. Now that our Dragonborn has his new sword and new armour, may I remind you all we have an operation to prepare for tomorrow night? Come on, you all have things to do, let's get to it.”

 

The Brotherhood dispersed to prepare. Cicero was last to leave. As he did, he shot one last look over his shoulder at Delphine.

 

“Stay safe, Listener,” was all he said out loud, but the darkness in his eyes spoke volumes about the likely consequences if this failed to happen. Then he too was gone, leaving Delphine watching where he'd been.

 

“You too, Keeper,” Delphine whispered. It wasn't her own safety she was worried about. It was his. Always his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hankering to see Cicero in a trench coat. This was the nearest I could get. A woman can have her fantasies, right?


	15. When Sisters Wage War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two Brotherhoods finally meet, and Astrid's poised to take control in a showdown neither side will ever forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! Karthspire Vs Falkreath in the fight of the year! I know a number of readers were desperate for this bit - I hope it lives up to expectations.

“Reckon it'll be tonight?” Nazir asked, staring at the chessboard before him and contemplating his next move. Taking a gamble, he moved his battlemage into an attacking position against Astrid's queen. “It's been three nights now. They'll have to make their move soon.”

 

“They will. When they're ready,” said Astrid calmly. Taking her queen, she moved it sideways – right into the path of Nazir's dragon.

 

“Now, was that a smart move?” Nazir chuckled, taking the queen off the board. Astrid just smiled.

 

“In certain circumstances, dear brother, sacrificing a queen is the only way to keep the game alive and protect the king. Like this.” With the dragon out of the way, Astrid moved the pawn lurking at the side of the board to the end, replaced her queen and sat back triumphantly. “Check mate, dear.”

 

“Wha- but how? How do you always do that?” Nazir demanded. “I swear you cheat.”

 

“Talent, my dear,” Astrid purred. “That and a gift for knowing how the pieces are likely to respond. Everyone always goes for the queen. So predictable.”

 

The door to the keep opened and Veezara poked his head around it. “Arnbjorn sees someone coming. He thinks it's them.”

 

“How many?” Astrid asked, not being a fool. She'd never have walked alone into this, after all.

 

“Just one. A woman in a dress. Looks like it may be your older Breton.”

 

“They sent the Listener herself? Alone? Not even armed?” Astrid gasped, delighted. “Well that does make our job so much simpler. Veezara, go join Arnbjorn and Gabriella and bring her in. With any luck, she'll come quietly.”

 

Veezara nodded and slipped back out into the night. Astrid cleared the chessboard away and motioned to Nazir to stand ready. Tonight, the Listener would be theirs.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Babette glanced up from her alchemy mixing as a Dunmer in shrouded robes stepped into the room.

 

“Hey Gabriella, you're back early,” said Babette, returning to her work. “Everything quiet at the Keep, huh?”

 

The Dunmer didn't respond, just kept walking towards her. Babette felt her spine tingle.

 

“Gabriella?” she asked, turning to look up into red eyes that weren't Gabriella's.

 

“Sweet dreams, child,” said Aranea, casting a Harmony spell on Babette. Babette tried to resist, but she felt the spell take hold, causing her to lose the will to fight. Then, an all-too familiar face loomed into view, pressing a drug-laced cloth to her nose and mouth.

 

“Sapphire, you bi-” The drug took hold and Babette slumped to the floor. Sapphire produced some rope and began tying the girl up, gagging her for good measure.

 

“I've got this one,” said Sapphire. “Why don't you head upstairs and see if Eola and Cal need any help?”

 

“On it,” said Aranea, grinning. This was proving to be easier than planned. Upstairs she could hear Destruction magic being cast, but whether it was Eola or someone else, she wasn't sure. Then a thud and silence.

 

“Got another one!” Eola called out. “Old guy in robes like Nea's.”

 

“Apparently not,” said Aranea, but she made her way up anyway. On her way, she took in the Murder Board. It was a bit of a shock to see their names up there. They'd definitely left far too much evidence behind them for those that knew where to look. Of course, they wouldn't be making that mistake twice. Time to check the rest of the Sanctuary and then put the next phase into action. She only hoped Delphine and Cicero were doing as well.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Astrid watched with some considerable satisfaction as Arnbjorn and Veezara escorted the woman in, Gabriella standing behind with magic at the ready in case she tried anything. Not that the pitiful wretch before them looked terribly likely to bolt any time soon. She was staring at her feet, lurid bruises on her throat and chest only starting to fade. A surprise, Astrid had expected a fighter, not this weakling. She made her way down the stairs to face her, Nazir at her side, smiling as this excuse for a Listener sank to her knees.

 

“So you're the Listener I've been hearing so much about,” said Astrid. “Strange, I expected someone a little more... imposing.”

 

“Please,” the woman whispered. “I'm just an innkeeper. I didn't know... I had no idea what was in that box, I swear! But he left it in the inn, and it started _talking to me,_ and then he came back and found out and he took me prisoner. Made me tell him what it said, called it his mother. Please, you have to help me, he's insane!”

 

“Who is?” Astrid asked, although she could guess.

 

“Cicero,” the woman said softly, so softly Astrid could barely hear her. “Keeps me close, barely lets me out of his sight. Keeps me chained like a dog when he has to leave. Doesn't always let me out when he gets back either. He – he calls me his pretty Listener, won't stop touching me. When I told him to stop...” She looked down at the floor, just about managing to keep from crying.

 

“Did he leave these on you, by any chance?” Astrid asked, finding herself unexpectedly sympathetic. She'd always suspected some mental instability in this Cicero. It was the letters. They were too formal.

 

The woman nodded. “He's forced himself on me nearly every night he's spent with me. Says I belong to him, that's he's been waiting so long, no one will keep him from his Listener now. When I resist, that's when he gets violent. Of course, sometimes I think he likes it that way.” She finally looked up, tears in her eyes. “Please help me. I'll come and work for you if you want, tell you what the Night Mother says. Just keep me away from him!”

 

_The queen in a fool's twisted game of chess,_ Astrid thought, feeling a stab of pity for the woman. She found it a little hard to believe that Cicero the mad jester had masterminded all this group's activities on his own. She also found it a little hard to believe that someone this possessive would let his Listener out of his sight for long, let alone allow her to come here on her own.

 

“So if he's so... protective, why has he let you come alone? That's rather trusting of him, don't you think?”

 

“Told him it was the Night Mother's will,” the woman whispered. “That she wanted us all to be one big happy family again and that you wanted to meet me specifically. I don't think he entirely believed me, but he relented in the end. Left marks though, just so you'd know whose I was.”

 

“I know whose you are,” said Astrid gently, cupping her cheek. “You're the Night Mother's chosen... and now you're mine.”

 

Her captive shut her eyes and nodded. “I'm yours, Astrid,” she gasped. “The Mother and I both are.”

 

“I'm very glad to hear it,” purred Astrid, drawing the Blade of Woe. “May I know your name, sister?”

 

“Delphine,” she managed to get out. “I'm Delphine. Of Riverwood.”

 

“Delphine of Riverwood,” said Astrid. “Say, I remember you. Stayed at your inn a few times on the way to and from Whiterun jobs. Strange, you always seemed so calm and sure of yourself. Funny how things change, eh?”

 

“Being raped at knifepoint will do that to you,” said Delphine listlessly.

 

“I suppose it would,” said Astrid, lifting her blade and tracing it along Delphine's face until the point came to rest just below her eye. “I wouldn't know. I killed the last man who tried that with me.” The Blade of Woe dug into Delphine's skin, a single bead of blood trickling down her cheek. “Well, I'd quite like a pet Listener too. Oh don't worry, no one will take liberties, I promise. You'll be quite safe. However, you're a Listener, not a Seer. No reason why you need to be able to see, is there?”

 

Delphine's eyes widened in horror. Astrid smiled viciously, adjusted her grip on the Blade and prepared to flick Delphine's left eyeball out. A bowstring twanged and an ebony arrow flew just past Astrid's nose, hitting Arnbjorn in the shoulder.

 

Astrid spun to face the direction the arrow had come from, just as Delphine cried out “he's here!” Another arrow flew out, this one narrowly missing Veezara.

 

“Get her back to the Sanctuary, now,” Astrid hissed, unslinging her own bow. “I'll take care of this.” She raced back up the stairs towards the study area, vaguely remembering a tower leading to the roof from there. Must be how the little lunatic got in. Sure enough, another arrow flew past her, grazing her shoulder. 

 

“For an allegedly powerful assassin, you're a terrible shot,” Astrid grinned, taking aim as she saw a short Imperial crouching by the ladder, bow in hand. He wasn't even wearing armour, just a jester outfit. One shot to the gut later, and it was all over. The little man collapsed to the floor, clutching at the arrow in pain, staring at the blood all over his hand.

 

“She's mine now, Cicero,” Astrid gloated, putting her bow away. “Should have brought her to me sooner, we could have been a good team. Too late now. We'll take your pretty Listener, make her not quite so pretty and then we'll have the Night Mother too. Be seeing you, Cicero... in the Void.”

 

She turned merrily away and ran after the others. Cicero watched her go, before ripping out the arrow and his jester shirt into the bargain.

 

“Another shirt ruined. I'll never get the blood out,” he muttered, disposing of the ruptured pig bladder he'd been hiding under it. Underneath that of course was his Dragonborn armour. Rolling up the remains of his shirt and pocketing them, making a mental note to order some more cloth from Markarth so as to make a new one, he shinned up the ladder to where two Forsworn warriors and a rope ladder to the ground were waiting. Someone needed teaching a lesson about not leaving Cicero behind her without making sure he was actually dead.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Astrid raced out into the night, chasing after the others, who were hastening their captive back home. It had been a good night, an excellent night. The Listener was theirs, Cicero was bleeding out back in the Keep, and soon the Night Mother would be theirs too. Not long now, and all Skyrim would tremble in their wake. Then maybe the rest of the Empire too, hmm?

 

Gabriella opened the door of the Sanctuary, slipping in first. Arnbjorn hurled Delphine in, Veezara following and Astrid bringing up the rear. She smiled grimly as she saw Delphine huddled at the foot of the stairs, whimpering in terror. Brushing past her siblings, she hauled the sobbing woman to her feet, taking her by the arm and dragging her into the main hallway, the others following her.

 

“Festus! Babette!” she called joyfully. “Mission accomplished. We have the Listener, and the pretender Cicero is dead.”

 

No answer. Astrid felt her skin prickle.

 

“Festus? Babette? Where are you?” Still nothing.

 

“Something's wrong,” Arnbjorn growled. “Too quiet and there's strange smells here. Astrid, we're-”

 

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

 

“FUS RO DAH!” a voice shrieked. A torrent of power sliced through the room, sending everyone flying. Astrid tried to move her body, preparing for impact, but something was wrong, someone had hold of her, an arm around her throat and she couldn't find her blade. She landed in the water with a splash, somehow with someone else's full bodyweight pinning her down and tying her hands, her head beneath the water and she couldn't breathe, _she couldn't breathe_ , Sithis not like this, not in her own Sanctuary.

 

Then she was out of the water, breathing in deep gasping breaths, just glad that she could. She couldn't do much else though. Her assailant had her pinned in a tight hold and her own Blade of Woe had been removed from its sheath and was being held against her belly.

 

“And now, _sister,_ ” came Delphine's voice in her ear, mocking and dangerous and not at all like the tearful innkeeper of before, “perhaps we can all sit down and talk this over like civilised adults, hmm?”

 

“Who are you?” Astrid gasped. “What did you do?”

 

“I'm the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood,” came the oh-so-calm reply. “Here at your request, as Mother bid me. Now, do I have your co-operation or do we have to get rough?”

 

Astrid stared around the Sanctuary in horror as figures detached themselves from the wall – one young Breton in Shrouded Armour and a Forsworn head-dress, and a Dunmer in full Shrouded Robes. Both had spells at the ready and grim smiles on their faces. The Breton was clearly poised to cast at her if she tried anything, while the Dunmer bore down on Gabriella, who was being held by two Forsworn and looking utterly betrayed.

 

“Aranea, how could you?” she asked, furious.

 

“I joined the Listener, Gabriella,” said Aranea. “Was I meant to refuse the Night Mother herself? Don't speak to me of treachery, sister.”

 

Gabriella didn't reply. She lowered her hands, but only because of the Forsworn blades at her throat. The two Dunmer continued to stare each other out, while in the background, Astrid could see an Imperial man and two more Forsworn wrestling Veezara to the ground and tying him up, while a familiar face, again with Forsworn assistance, was doing the same to Nazir.

 

“You filthy little bitch!” Astrid shouted, only to yelp as Delphine shoved her head below water again.

 

“Less of that,” said Delphine, hauling Astrid back up for air after a few seconds had ticked by. Sapphire just grinned from where she was pinning Nazir down. “Be nice to your sister. Otherwise, well, I may have to be not so nice to my dear brother Arnbjorn. Mightn't I?”

 

Slowly, Astrid lifted her head, Delphine shifting to give her a better view of where Arnbjorn was. He was on his knees, three Forsworn warriors helping to pin him down as he thrashed on the floor, howling. Around his neck, a thin rope of silk was tied loosely, but it was clearly slicing into his skin. She could see it burning him. Holding the other end, straddling Arnbjorn's shoulders, was the grinning jester she'd shot earlier, wearing black armour with a red handprint on the front instead of his jester's shirt. His free hand was holding an ebony dagger, pointed right at Arnbjorn's cheek.

 

“Get away from him,” Astrid shouted, terrified for her husband and that didn't decrease as Cicero looked up, vicious smile on his face, his dark eyes the very pits of Oblivion.

 

“I always wanted a puppy,” Cicero grinned. “Can I keep him, Listener? Can I?”

 

“We don't need a dog, sweetie,” said Delphine calmly. “Dear Cicero is such a sweet boy, but I do fear that he's not very good at forward planning. Fortunately for him, he met me and I do nothing but. Now, you were going to surrender your Sanctuary to me?”

 

“Damn you, you lying bitch,” said Astrid, still struggling. “I will have your head for this. Do you know, I almost felt sorry for you earlier.”

 

Delphine laughed. “Did you really? I must have been good. Question is, are you going to bow to the inevitable or not? I'm not your enemy, Astrid! I came here expecting a trap and sure enough, you sprang one. However, I'm a reasonable woman and I don't actually want bloodshed. I came here hoping to negotiate and I still will if I can.”

 

“Negotiate??” Astrid spat. “You're holding us all hostage!”

 

“Yes, and you threatened to blind me, imprison me, oh and let's not forget, you also shot my Cicero. Fortunate for us all that I had the foresight to make him wear his armour under his shirt. Oh, and some pig organs. For the blood, you know.”

 

“Cicero's shirt is ruined,” Cicero growled. “Cicero liked that shirt. Maybe in return he can ruin Astrid's husband, hmm?” He yanked on the rope and Arnbjorn screamed in pain, his neck raw.

 

“Arnbjorn,” Astrid cried. “Please, let him go, he's suffered enough!”

 

“Has he?” Delphine asked. “You've yet to surrender, so I personally don't think he has. At the moment, I'd like you all alive, but I don't see why Cicero can't carve him up a little. After all,” and here Delphine's grip tightened, “I don't see why he needs _both_ his eyes, do you?”

 

“No!” Astrid screamed, even as Cicero placed his dagger against Arnbjorn's mouth.

 

“Oh, why so sad, sheepdog?” Cicero crooned. “Cicero thinks you should smile more. Let's widen that smile, shall we?”

 

“Stop it!” Astrid sobbed, unable to bear it any more. “You win, you win, I surrender, this Sanctuary's yours. Just don't hurt him. Please.”

 

Silence. Cicero put his dagger away, eyes on Delphine.

 

“Tell your people to stand down too,” said Delphine. “Any tricks, Cicero slaughters them all, understood?”

 

Astrid nodded, tears pouring down her face. “Weapons down, everyone,” she whispered. “It's over.”

 

Delphine released Astrid, getting to her feet and grimacing as water poured off her. “Did anyone bring a towel?” she asked.

 

Aranea handed her one. Delphine stepped out of the lake, rubbing her hair and clothes down as she indicated for everyone to step back and let their captives go. Cicero undid the knot that bound Arnbjorn and pocketed the rope, rolling off the werewolf and getting to his feet. Astrid ran to her husband and threw her arms around him.

 

“Arnbjorn,” she wept. “I'm so sorry. I couldn't... I couldn't bear to see them hurting you. Are you alright?”

 

Arnbjorn cradled his wife in his arms, apparently heedless of the ring of raw flesh around his neck where the rope had bit into him.

 

“Wife,” he murmured. “Never apologise for loving me.”

 

Astrid snuggled into her husband's arms. Her world may have just shattered but at least her Arnbjorn was safe. She watched out of the corner of her eye as Cicero sauntered up to where Delphine had finished drying off.

 

“Listener,” he said casually. “Your mad plan actually worked.”

 

“It did,” said Delphine, looking far too smug for her own good. Then her expression shifted into a far tenderer one, stunning Astrid. _By Sithis, this Listener really does love that madman._

 

“Are you alright?” Delphine asked. “I said some terrible things about you. I'm sorry, Cicero, I know all this has been hard for you.”

 

Cicero stepped forward and put his arms around Delphine, resting his head against her shoulder.

 

“Even Cicero has his limits, sweet Delphine,” he whispered. “Not many, it's true. But he does have them.”

 

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Delphine soothed him. “I'm sorry, love. Forgive me?”

 

Cicero gasped and squeezed her tightly.

 

“Cicero can forgive his sweet Delphine anything,” Cicero sighed happily. “If she calls him that again.”

 

“What, sweetheart?” Delphine asked, trying not to grin too much. Cicero shook his head.

 

“No, lovely Delphine. The... the other one.”

 

“Oh, that.” Delphine shrugged, trying to at least make an attempt to keep her cool. “All right then, Cicero my love. If it makes you happy to hear it.”

 

Next thing she knew Cicero was kissing her fiercely, and it wasn't long before she was kissing him back, quite heedless of the rest of the Brotherhood watching.

 

“Bless them, that's rather sweet,” said Astrid, her romantic side coming out despite the circumstances. Arnbjorn looked at her as if she'd gone insane herself.

 

“Wife, she tried to drown you in your own Sanctuary, and her pet maniac there has just been torturing me with whatever hagcraft that rope was. Now you think they look sweet?? I love you dearly, but I really don't understand you sometimes.”

 

“I don't think she'd told him that before,” said Astrid, smiling. “It's rather sweet to watch new love blossom, don't you think, husband? And if they're to be our new siblings, well we might as well get along, hmm?”

 

Arnbjorn growled, but didn't argue. He got to his feet and pulled Astrid to stand alongside him. Delphine broke off the kiss, stroked Cicero's face and turned to address the rest of them, arms full of blissfully happy jester.

 

“All right, if you need medical attention, form an orderly queue and Aranea will see to you. Falkreath brothers and sisters, weapons down like Astrid said, Calixto will take them off you. Sapphire, go relieve our Forsworn helpers and get Festus and Babette freed. This is an honourable surrender and we're still Family, so if everyone could be civil, I'd appreciate it. Reconvene in the next room in fifteen minutes while I find my armour and weapons. Have you got them there, Eola? Eola? Are you alright?”

 

“I'm fine,” Eola sobbed. “You two are just so sweet together!” Tearfully, she handed over Delphine's dai-katana and retrieved the pack with her Blades armour in it.

 

“Is she really alright?” Delphine asked, alarmed. Cicero nodded, patting Eola's shoulder.

 

“Delphine should not worry, she is often like this when happy. She was in tears after meeting Madanach again. No, Cicero does not understand it either, but it is not the strangest thing sister Eola does.”

 

Delphine couldn't rightly disagree with that. Leaving Cicero to comfort Eola, she disappeared to get back into her armour again. As flesh disappeared beneath steel plating, Delphine couldn't help but smile. She was the Listener and it felt good.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The atmosphere was still a little tense as the Dark Brotherhood reconvened in the dining room. All the Falkreath members were grouped behind Astrid, who was seated on the far side of the table, Arnbjorn on her right, Nazir on her left. Aranea had healed Arnbjorn up, but the werewolf still looked hostile. Astrid looked as calm as ever as Delphine took the seat opposite, Cicero on her right, Aranea on her left and the others grouped behind her. All the various Forsworn that had come with them had spread themselves around the edges of the room, guarding the entrances.

 

“So,” said Astrid. “Forsworn, eh? I wondered if they'd paid you to do over old Thonar. Got Madanach in your debt, hmm?”

 

“Indeed,” said Delphine, smiling. “Doesn't hurt that his little girl works for me either.” Eola, eyes now dry, waved cheerily at Astrid. “Oh, and it turns out Sithis is one of the Forsworn's old gods, which means as Listener to the Night Mother, I apparently count as a Matriarch of theirs, without the tedious inconvenience of becoming a Hagraven.”

 

Astrid stared at her, incredulous. “How in the name of Sithis did you manage to find that out??”

 

“Night Mother knows all,” Eola grinned. “But yeah, Forsworn all over the Reach won't attack us. It's considered very bad luck to interfere with the children of the Night Mother.”

 

“Hardly unique to the Forsworn,” said Astrid. “But a useful thing to have, I can see. So. You've got an arrangement with the Forsworn, which presumably means your Sanctuary is in the Reach, yes?”

 

“She knows too much!” Cicero hissed. Delphine placed a hand on his arm to silence him.

 

“Yes, it's in the Reach. Don't try to find it, it's well hidden and well protected. Once we've got an arrangement reached and it's held sufficiently long for me to deem you trustworthy, I'll consider allowing you to visit. But not yet.”

 

“In addition to your Windhelm house and presumably the Sleeping Giant inn in Riverwood,” said Astrid. “I am very impressed. I can see there is a story behind all this. Perhaps you'll tell me the rest some day.”

 

“Not the inn any more,” said Delphine. “I paid the tab for these guys, cleared everything out, turned it over to my barkeep, Orgnar. But it was the Night Mother's home for a time, and I'll always remember it fondly.” She squeezed Cicero's hand. “It has some good memories.”

 

“Listener,” Cicero cooed, moving his chair nearer Delphine and cozying up to her. Delphine put her arm around him and absently scritched the back of his head while he sighed.

 

“You've all got Shrouded Armour,” Astrid noted. “I suppose Sapphire there was responsible for that.” She barely bothered to hide the distaste in her voice. “Better be careful, Delphine. Keep an eye on your jester, she steals more than coin.”

 

“She'd not be so foolish as to rob me,” said Delphine calmly. “Besides, any fool can see Cicero only has eyes for me, and he's not Sapphire's type anyway.”

 

As one, Calixto, Eola and Sapphire all looked at Aranea, who sipped her mead, contriving to look entirely oblivious. Astrid followed their gazes, raised an eyebrow and merely said “I see.” She turned her attention back to Delphine.

 

“But you and Cicero, you have some rather unique battle wear. Now I can see why you might want something special for your favourite and it does suit him. Are those dragon scales in the lining??”

 

“They are,” said Delphine. “We had a little collection of them building up so decided to make full use of them. Lucky for him or your arrow might have actually hurt my darling boy, hmm? That would have been most... unfortunate.”

 

It would have been a significant turning point in Astrid's favour, Astrid thought but did not say. That there was some mystery about this man, a reason why they'd crafted him such fine light armour, Astrid had no doubt. She would find out what it was, of that she was sure.

 

“Your own armour is also most impressive. Not standard military issue either. Way too expensive for a simple innkeeper to own, and is that a dai-katana there? Cicero has one too, I see. Where you sourced two dai-katanas and that armour from is a little beyond me. Looks heavy though. How do you sneak in that?”

 

“I manage,” said Delphine. “Let's just say it's maintained by someone excellent at oiling hard to reach places.” She shot Cicero a flirty wink and he giggled, blushing.

 

“Could have done with never knowing that,” Nazir muttered. The other Falkreath assassins nodded. All except Babette, who had been staring at Delphine, eyes narrowed.

 

“I know that armour,” she announced. “I grew up in the Imperial City before I was turned. That's Blades armour. You were in the Blades!”

 

“No!” Gabriella gasped, amazed. “Are there any left? I thought they disbanded years ago! The old Blade makes everything new... Old Olava's not insane, then.”

 

“I thought the Thalmor hunted them all down years ago,” said Festus, watching Delphine shrewdly. “Devoted Talos worshippers to the last, I heard. Makes me wonder why one joined the Brotherhood.”

 

“Can someone please tell me who the Blades are?” Astrid asked, frustrated. History had never been her strong point.

 

Delphine leaned forward, folding gauntleted hands on the table. “We were bodyguards and spies for the Septim emperors. We kept the dragon blood safe down through the centuries and stayed on in that role right up until Titus Mede caved in to the Thalmor and banned worship of our god. So we went into hiding. I lost touch with the others, but I stayed hidden, out of sight. Then I met Cicero and got called by the Night Mother herself. What I was isn't so very important. What matters is that I'm the damn Listener now.”

 

“And your man there's the Dragonborn,” Arnbjorn growled. “I heard him Shout. The Greybeards wouldn't teach that to a non-Nord even if he wasn't Dark Brotherhood. So he's the Dragonborn and that's why the fancy dragon scaled armour. You found the dragon blood, he found a Listener. Neat partnership there.”

 

Delphine was glaring at Arnbjorn as if she'd dearly like to punch him. Astrid was stroking his arm, clearly impressed and the look in her eyes was promising all sorts of fun later on when they'd retired to bed.

 

“I'm a Nord,” he shrugged. “I know my stories.”

 

“Dragonborn,” said Astrid, turning her attention to Cicero, clearly fascinated. Cicero glared back, fingering Dragonbane's hilt and calculating the precise angle and swing he'd need to decapitate her from his seat.

 

“So we have a Blade leading the Dark Brotherhood so she can better guard the Dragonborn son of Sithis,” said Astrid, delighted. “Oh, this is adorable. So, Listener, what are you going to do with him now you have him?”

 

“Oh Sithis, don't ask her that!” Festus cried. “I don't want to know about their sex life!”

 

“Agreed,” said Calixto and Aranea in unison.

 

Delphine sipped her mead before replying. When she did, her voice was low and menacing.

 

“Well, I plan to find out why the dragons have returned, and then I plan to wipe the whole damn lot of them from the skies of Tamriel. And if I have to have people killed to fund all this, I will do just that. That's my grand plan in a nutshell, Astrid. However, I think you need to think less about what I have in mind for Cicero and more about what I have in mind for you.”

 

That did sober up the Falkreath side of the table.

 

“What did you have in mind?” Astrid asked, no longer smiling. “I assume if you wanted us dead, we'd be dead by now.”

 

“You presume correctly,” said Delphine. “I've no interest in interfering with your affairs, Astrid. Believe it.”

 

“I'd be quite happy to let your people go unmolested too,” Astrid sighed. “But the fact remains, you're very bad for business! The advertising is fantastic, don't get me wrong. But when people want the Brotherhood, they perform the Sacrament. Once, we'd have learnt of it via our own connections but now those contracts are coming to the Night Mother. To you.”

 

“I can see how that must have been very frustrating,” said Delphine with a smile. “I do understand the situation. Here you are, long established for years as the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim, then what happens but we sashay in with the Night Mother and start claiming all your contracts overnight. I'm surprised you waited so long to try and kill us.”

 

“Precisely,” said Astrid, pleased. “See, you do understand the situation. It's nothing personal, Delphine, but Skyrim's not big enough for two Dark Brotherhoods.”

 

“The Night Mother agrees,” said Delphine gently. “So we're not going to be. Join me, Astrid. Join me and I'll make sure you get a fair share of any contracts the Night Mother gives me. I'll send the details Mother gives me, you get to do all the arranging and execution. All I ask in return is a cut of whatever you get. A little finders fee, shall we say.”

 

Astrid looked thoughtful. They were not bad terms, she had to admit. It was a better deal than she'd have offered.

 

“I want to be able to run my Sanctuary as I see fit,” she said. “No interference from you.”

 

“Agreed,” said Delphine. “You recruit who you want, you can take any outside contracts you want. All I ask is that you do nothing to harm our allies. In particular, I don't want Madanach of the Forsworn harmed. He's been a good friend to us.”

 

Astrid made a mental note to locate Madanach's base of operations, having a sneaking suspicion she'd find the Blades Sanctuary there.

 

“I can do that,” said Astrid. “I feel I should mention I have a non-aggression agreement with the Thieves Guild going on...”

 

“So do we,” Delphine grinned. “Brynjolf and I go way back.”

 

“Delvin and I likewise,” Astrid purred. “So this cut you were after. Two per cent suffice?”

 

“Ten,” said Delphine firmly.

 

“Ten? Just for listening?” Astrid rolled her eyes. “Will five suit you?”

 

“Acceptable,” said Delphine. She noticed Cicero beginning to fidget and decided they were close to wrapping things up. “I trust I can rely on you not to sell us out to any enemies we may have?”

 

“To the Thalmor, you mean?” Astrid laughed. “Have no fear, I wouldn't dream of it. You've got the Dragonborn at your side. You're far too interesting to kill!”

 

That did make Delphine laugh. “Well, if being interesting is what keeps us alive, I think I can rest easy. Nothing's ever dull with my people. Of course, I won't betray you either. Mother would... disapprove.”

 

“I still can hardly believe there's a Listener again,” said Astrid, laughing. “Do you really hear her voice? What does she say?”

 

“Contract details, mostly. But she says other things too. Gives advice, tells us where to find recruits, that sort of thing. Warns us when people are plotting to do silly things like abduct me or try to kill my boy, for example.”

 

Astrid had the grace to look a little ashamed at this. “That was a little foolish, I admit. All in the past now though, right?”

 

“I'm willing to consign it there. However, there is the little matter of you performing the Sacrament. Cicero here doesn't like seeing it misused and nor do I. Mother was certainly less than pleased. Perform the Sacrament and someone has to die, Astrid. So you'd better have someone for me and some gold to pay us. Otherwise, well... we don't take kindly to having our time wasted.”

 

“Haven't you taken enough of our business?” Astrid cried. She took in the uncompromising expressions opposite her. “Oh fine, fine, Nazir, get the ledger.”

 

A large red book with a black handprint appeared on front of her and Astrid pored through it, seeking out something suitable. She ran a finger across a name and smiled.

 

“I think I have one. Windhelm-based, so shouldn't be a problem for you given your connection to the city. Courtesy of the entire Dunmer population of Windhelm, or a syndicate of their leading citizens anyway. Eight hundred septims for you on completion of the job, and a little bonus if it's carried out by a Nord with witnesses to this effect.”

 

“Why do I have a feeling I know who this is,” said Aranea, grinning.

 

“Oh, so you've heard of him,” Astrid smiled. “Yes, you're right. Rolff Stone-Fist, older brother of Ulfric Stormcloak's housecarl, who couldn't find a job after the war, had to watch his little brother go on to be the Jarl's right hand man, turned to drink and turned the resentment of Galmar he couldn't admit to having on to the Dunmer. A very sad story. But apparently the bullying is getting beyond a joke and it's gone from threats of beating and interrogation on to threats of, well, sexual violence.”

 

“The contemptible little swine,” said Aranea softly. Calixto squeezed her shoulder in comfort, but it was Sapphire who spoke up.

 

“I'll do it,” she said. “With your permission, Listener?”

 

“Granted,” said Delphine, no hesitation whatsoever in her voice. She knew Rolff Stone-Fist of old, and honestly couldn't say she'd ever liked the man. He'd been rude enough to her for not being a Nord, and she'd been a well-loved housecarl at the time. He'd also said some extremely cruel things after Hoag Stormcloak's death, that if Hoag had been less enchanted by his Breton witch and if she'd spent more time being a housecarl rather than a whore, the Jarl might still be alive. No, Delphine had no regrets here.

 

“Well then,” said Delphine. “With all that concluded, do we have an agreement?”

 

“We do,” said Astrid, holding out her hand. They shook hands.

 

“There is one last thing,” said Astrid tentatively.

 

“What is it?” Delphine asked. Astrid seemed almost nervous, but Delphine couldn't imagine why. They'd covered the key points, surely?

 

“Will you go over the Murder Board with me?” Astrid asked, her voice hurried. “I – I've been thinking of nothing else for weeks, and well, I want to know, dammit! Want to know the stories, want to know how close I was! Please? Tell me the stories behind it?”

 

Delphine couldn't help it. Astrid looked like such a petulant child, in fact not too dissimilar to Cicero if she did but know it. Delphine burst out laughing.

 

“Of course,” she laughed. “Bring it over, we'll all sit round and go over it. I'll tell you anything you like apart from the Vici murder story. That one's sensitive and ongoing, and once it's done, I will tell you everything, I swear. Everything else, yes. Better, I'll get those involved to tell their stories. Cicero and Eola in particular have a way with re-enactments. I trust you have ale and food to ply us with?”

 

“We have plenty,” said Astrid, getting up, barely able to restrain her glee. Soon, the Forsworn had been dismissed back to the camp near Rorikstead, and the Murder Board had been spread out in the main hallway, with both Brotherhoods pointing, laughing, correcting, telling stories, doing impressions and generally having fun until way into the night. Sure, there were tensions still there, and when the mead wore off and the visitors were on their way, Astrid would sit and wonder if she'd done the right thing. Then she'd look at Arnbjorn, alive and well, and all the rest of her Family, alive and well, and think how badly things could have gone. Then she'd think of her new Family, and begin to smile. She didn't exactly trust them, not yet. But she liked them and respected them, and that was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here endeth the lesson - never turn your back on Cicero. ;)
> 
> I could have written a bloodbath, I suppose... but I need Astrid and co alive for later, and I always wanted an alliance of sorts.
> 
> Next chapter - you know there's no mention of the Companions in the initial notes on Chapter 1? I wasn't originally going to include them... then changed my mind.


	16. Proving Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Karthspire Brotherhood are enjoying a well-earned break after their confrontation with the Falkreath Brotherhood. However, the discovery of a new Thu'um prompts a new thirst for knowledge in Cicero, leading to some new friends and Eola finding more than she bargained for. Meanwhile, Rolff Stone-Fist needs to die and Sapphire's the one to see to it...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So anyway, I mentioned most of the factions at the start of this, but left out the Companions, because they weren't originally going to be in it. Er. Change of plan this chapter. :)

Very little was said between Delphine and Cicero on the way home. Very little needed to be said. The two walked hand in hand on the road back to the Reach, Delphine occasionally glancing at him and smiling. Cicero just looked content and at peace. Of course, there was the odd bandit or wolf to deal with, and at Sunderstone Gorge, two necromancers made the mistake of thinking the happy couple easy prey. That lasted right up until Delphine and Cicero drew their weapons, gave the mages almost pitying looks and leapt in for the kill. Then the other four caught up and the massacre began. One successful cave exploration later, and everyone had nice new weapons, gold in their pockets, loot all round, potions and poisons, and Cicero had both a shiny ebony bow and a new Thu'um to add to the one he'd picked up at the Sanctuary.

 

“TOOR!” he Shouted, once back out on the road. Nothing happened. Cicero frowned.

 

“This is odd, Cicero is sure he is doing it right. The Marked for Death one worked beautifully on that Fire Mage. Why not this?? TOOR!”

 

Still nothing.

 

“Are you sure you're breathing properly when you do it?” Delphine asked. “Or are you saying it wrong?”

 

“I'm saying it just fine!” Cicero snapped. “I – forgive me, Listener, I just do not understand why it doesn't do anything. This... this has never happened to poor Cicero before.” He rubbed his head in frustration.

 

“Well, do you know what it's supposed to do?” Delphine asked. “I mean, I have to admit, it seems to come fairly naturally to you most of the time. You didn't even need telling what the one on Astrid's wall did.”

 

This was true. Cicero had skipped past the Wall, stopped in his tracks, skipped back and pressed his face up against what had looked like just engraving on rock to Delphine. He'd stared for a good few seconds then shrieked, delighted. He'd done a little dance on the spot and ran up to her.

 

“Cicero can _kill people with a word!!!!_ ” he'd squealed. He'd not stopped bouncing for a good five minutes as he'd proceeded to explain what it did.

 

He'd been pretty bouncy after finding this one too, staring at the Wall with an unholy glee in his eyes. He'd stayed that way right up until he'd got outside and announced “Stand back everybody and watch this! TOOR!”

 

Nothing had happened. Nothing. Not a blade of grass had trembled. There'd been a swiftly smothered giggle from Sapphire but nothing more. It was a little awkward, to say the least.

 

“It's all right, Dragonborn. Happens to most men at some point in their lives. Nothing to be ashamed of,” said Aranea, barely bothering to disguise her grin. Cicero shot her a withering glance, which only served to increase the giggles.

 

“You are worse than Eola,” he muttered savagely, kicking a rock across the road in frustration.

 

“It's all right, honey. We still love you anyway,” Eola called. “I'm sure you've got plenty of other awesome ways to kill things.”

 

“Be. Quiet. Hussy,” Cicero hissed at her. The glare didn't have the desired effect. Eola just burst out laughing. Cicero finally lost his temper.

 

“WHY ISN'T IT WORKING???” he howled, jumping up and down in fury. Delphine bit her lip, despite feeling the urge to laugh herself. It wasn't funny seeing the mighty Dragonborn's Thu'um stop working, it really wasn't. Poor thing. She settled for patting him on the shoulder.

 

“You didn't tell me what it did,” she said softly, leading him away from the other four. Eola, changing the subject, was now wailing that she'd eaten too much and was leaning on Sapphire's shoulder, whining at the other woman to help carry her home, much to Sapphire's displeasure. Sapphire's mood soon picked up though, as Calixto promptly scooped Eola up in a fireman's lift. Delphine ignored the shrieking and Calixto swearing by all the gods that Eola weighed a bloody ton, what had she been eating, an entire Orc stronghold?

 

“I will tell my father!” Eola howled, punching Calixto's back.

 

“You do that,” said Aranea. “Tell him you like to eat the flesh of the dead, we'd all love to be present for that conversation.”

 

It was a mark of Cicero's misery that the prospect of teasing Eola didn't even cause a smile.

 

“It means Inferno,” said Cicero, looking utterly miserable. “It should let me breathe fire. Like a dragon. Like... like Alduin. Delphine, how am I meant to kill him if I can't breathe fire like him? How is Cicero meant to be a Dovahkiin if he can't do this??”

 

“Come here, love,” said Delphine, still feeling that little frisson of joy and terror every time she said it. Cicero snuggled into her arms, still not used to being called that either. “You're still the Dragonborn as far as I'm concerned. Not just saying that because I love you either.” There, easier to say it that way, made it sound a bit more matter of fact and less like dropping all her shields and holding up a big target for the gods to hit. “All your other Shouts work. There must be a reason why this one isn't. I don't think it's you.”

 

“What if it is though?” Cicero whispered. “What if Cicero can't use this one because.... because he's broken? Because he's just a poor fool whose mind doesn't work any more?”

 

“Sweetie,” Delphine whispered, not sure what to say. “Don't say that, you're doing fine. Your mind works a lot better than you give it credit for, love. You're Dragonborn, I've never heard of one who couldn't use any Shout he learnt before. Honestly, Cicero, the dragon blood's... volatile. Dangerous. Strong and wilful. All Dragonborns are a bit of a law unto themselves, and well, they all go kind of crazy after a while. Take a look at the history of the Septim bloodline – you won't find an odder bunch anywhere. They ranged from eccentric geniuses to power-crazed manipulators to outright lunatics. You think insanity makes you unfit to be a Dragonborn? Guess again – you fit right in.”

 

Cicero giggled. “Oh but Cicero is not insane, Listener! Cicero is merely a humble fool whose mind works in odd ways and whose dearest wish is to serve his lovely Delphine and his dear Mother. Cicero is not crazy! Cicero is just not sure he's worthy of the dragon blood, that's all.”

 

“Well tough, you've clearly got it,” said Delphine. He was also clearly possessed of the famous Septim mental instability and love of violence, but she had a feeling pointing this out would be wasted on him. “Are you going to tell me you're not worthy of a Listener's affections next?”

 

Cicero shook his head. “Oh no no no, Cicero did not mean to imply that, no! Cicero is honoured to be treasured and cherished by no less than the mighty Listener herself. But if the Listener is so certain he is a true Dragonborn, why can Cicero _not breathe fire???_ ”

 

“I don't know,” said Delphine thoughtfully. “The Voice isn't my area of expertise. But Esbern might know. We'll ask him when we get back. And if he doesn't know, well, you need to go to High Hrothgar anyway to ask the Greybeards about Shouts that can knock a dragon from the sky. You could ask them as well, they're sure to know what the problem is.”

 

Cicero brightened up at this. “Sweet Delphine thinks they might know? Then Cicero will stop worrying and trust his darling Listener.” He sighed happily and cuddled her, not seeming to mind the fact she was clad in plate metal. “Cicero loves you, sweet Delphine. He's glad he can say it now. He always loved you, sweetling. Longed for your sweet caresses from the very start.”

 

 _May the gods never take you from me until we're both old._ Delphine did not say it out loud. She wasn't at all sure the gods looked too kindly on leaders of assassination death cults these days.

 

“Cicero will find out why he can't breathe fire, and he will find out a way round it,” Cicero continued, seemingly not bothered by the lack of response. “Cicero wants Alduin dead. Not just for kind Esbern, but because he likes this world. He doesn't want it to end. Not now he is finally happy at last. He doesn't want Alduin to eat his lovely Delphine's soul.”

 

Delphine held him tightly, hardly daring to breathe. “I don't want to lose you either, Dragonborn.”

 

“You won't.” Cicero kissed her lips once and let her go, taking her hand as they continued down the road back home. “Cicero will kill Alduin and come home to you, dearest. Always.”

 

“You'd better,” was all Delphine felt safe saying. “No one oils my armour like you do.”

 

Cicero laughed at that, knowing full well that his skills in applying oils had been used on far more than just Delphine's armour of late. At this rate, he'd need to order more in from Cyrodiil. Worth it though, to see his Listener come undone in his hands. Entwining leather-clad fingers with her steel-covered ones, he walked on beside her, silence falling comfortably between them both. She loved him, even if she wasn't quite comfortable saying the words that often. She loved him, he loved her. He'd never felt happier.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Esbern and Aventus were waiting for them in the main dining hall, Esbern at his small desk next to Alduin's Wall, Aventus busily engaged in making dragons out of paper and enacting mock aerial battles. He'd even managed to fold a jester out of paper and was making it beat up one of the dragons when the real thing walked in, still holding hands with Delphine. The rest of the Brotherhood followed behind, Eola still berating the others for teasing her on the road as she followed Aranea, Calixto and Sapphire to the main table, eager to put her feet up and rest.

 

“Ah yes,” said Esbern, without looking up from his books. “I had forgotten how the acoustics in this room amplified sound. How I have missed the sensation of my brain vibrating in my skull from all the noise.”

 

“You're back!” Aventus cried, paper toys swept aside as he raced up to Cicero and Delphine. For one moment, he looked as if he was about to fling his arms around Cicero, but stopped in time and settled for interrogation instead. “Did you do it? Did you fight the Other Brotherhood? Did you kill them? Was there blood?”

 

“No, no one died,” Cicero sighed. “It was all very civilised in the end. Cicero is a bit disappointed.”

 

Aventus's shoulders drooped. “What did happen then? You're all still here and not dead or anything...”

 

Delphine smiled, kneeling down to talk to him. “It's alright, Aventus. We did it. Without bloodshed. Astrid surrendered and accepted me as Listener. In return, I made her Speaker of the Falkreath Sanctuary and I'll be sure to send her contracts as they come in. Means you don't have to worry any more, Aventus. They won't be coming after you, or us. You can go home. Or back to Honorhall at least. Aventus? You don't look happy, what's up?”

 

“I don't want to go home!” the boy cried. “I want to stay here with you, and Cicero and Mr Corrium and Madam Aranea and Eola and Sapphire and Esbern. I want to learn how to be an assassin, just like you!”

 

Delphine felt her skin go cold at the very thought. On the one hand, she could see how a Family, even a Dark one, would be so very tempting to a child that had lost his own. On the other, he was just a boy for Talos' sake, how could she induct a child into the Dark Brotherhood? She couldn't, of course. You had to have killed before to join the Dark Brotherhood – murdered and thought nothing of it. That pretty much covered all her recruits. Hiring the Brotherhood though was not the same as doing the deed oneself.

 

“Please don't send me back to Honorhall!” he cried, flinging his arms around Delphine. “I'll be good, I promise! I'll do my chores and study hard and look after your weapons and armour!”

 

“I Keep the Listener's weapons and armour!” Cicero snarled. “Not you, Aretino boy!”

 

Aventus didn't miss a beat. He turned hopefully to Cicero. “I could keep **your** weapons and armour, Cicero.”

 

Cicero rolled his eyes. “Is Cicero supposed to be tempted by this offer? Why, he would be surprised if the boy could even hold a dagger properly, never mind sharpen it.”

 

“You could show me how,” said Aventus, not one to back down easily. “I bet you're a really good teacher.”

 

Cicero looked wearily at Delphine. “He is not going to give up on this, is he.”

 

“He's really not,” said Delphine, her heart heavy. Still, it wasn't the hardest compromise she'd had to negotiate lately. “All right. You can stay. Wait! I'm not done yet. There are conditions.”

 

“I don't mind!” said Aventus, stopping mid-victory dance. “Whatever you want, Listener.”

 

“I'm not- Aventus, I am not offering you a job in the Dark Brotherhood!” Delphine sighed. Aventus's face fell.

 

“You don't think I'm good enough, do you,” he said. Delphine shoved the guilt to one side.

 

“No, it's not that. It's just you're ten years old! You're still a kid! Joining the Dark Brotherhood means being able and willing to kill people. Any people. Doesn't matter if they're good or bad people. Doesn't even matter if it's someone you know. Anyone outside the Dark Brotherhood who's not a current client or one of our allies is a potential target. Anyone from the Jarl to the beggar on the street. Maybe even one of your friends back in Riften. Not yet, no – I don't take contracts against children. But when you're all grown up and someone wants a kid you grew up with dead... what then?”

 

Aventus had gone silent, his lip trembling. Even Cicero was looking away. Delphine patted the boy's shoulder gently.

 

“You see, you're not ready yet. Takes more than training to make an assassin. You've got to be a bit heartless, and you aren't. It's not a bad thing, Aventus. World needs all sorts. But I can offer you this. You stay here until you're 16, and we'll train you to do all the things we can. We'll teach you how to read and write if you can't already, we'll teach you how to add up and subtract if you can't already, we'll teach you history, we'll teach you magic, we'll teach you how to fight and how to sneak, how to pick locks and pockets. We'll teach you enough smithing and enchanting to make you a good apprentice to a smith, we'll show you a bit of alchemy too. Then when you're 16, it's up to you. You should have enough skills to take up a trade of some sort by then. If you're good with weapons, the Companions might be interested, or the army, whichever one runs Skyrim by then. If you take to magic, there's the College. And if you turn out to be sneaky and good with locks, I can always put in a good word with Brynjolf, get you into the Guild.”

 

“But not the Brotherhood,” said Aventus sadly.

 

“No. Not yet,” said Delphine. “Train hard and well, and when you're 16, we can talk about it then. For now though, this is home.”

 

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Aventus cried, throwing his arms around Delphine. “You won't regret it, I promise!”

 

“You're welcome,” said Delphine, although it was clear from her eyes she already did. “Now, why don't you go join the others while Cicero and I talk to Esbern. I'm sure you want to hear all about what happened at the other Sanctuary.”

 

Aventus surely did and was soon sitting next to Calixto, listening avidly as the rest of the Brotherhood recounted the events at Falkreath. Delphine left them to it, following as Cicero waylaid Esbern.

 

“Esbern, wise Esbern, all-knowing and venerable Esbern, Cicero has learnt two new words of power!” Cicero had swept Esbern's books away and was now perched on the desk, grinning and demanding Esbern's full attention.

 

Esbern sighed, resigned to the interruption. At least Cicero no longer referred to him as the defiler and was no longer making veiled insinuations that Esbern would be best off stabbed and left in a shallow grave. It was something.

 

“That's very good, Cicero, very good indeed. You'll be a match for Alduin in no time at this rate. Are any of them from the Shout depicted on Alduin's Wall, by any chance?”

 

Cicero shook his head. “Cicero doesn't think so, no. One we found in the Falkreath Sanctuary, and Cicero likes it, he likes it very much. It is Krii, and it lets him mark someone for death, draining their life and strength until they are easy prey. Oh, Cicero likes that one, yes!”

 

“How very appropriate,” said Esbern. “And the other?”

 

“It is called Toor, and Cicero thinks it should let him breathe fire like a dragon can.” However, he didn't look happy about it, which struck Esbern as rather odd, especially for someone like Cicero.

 

“But?” said Esbern. “Is there a problem?”

 

“You might say that,” said Delphine. “It doesn't seem to work.”

 

“Doesn't work?” Esbern's forehead crinkled as he pondered this one. “But that's unheard of, if it's a word of power, the Dragonborn should be able to use it as soon as he's learnt it and acquired a dragon's soul to fuel it. For it not to work is...”

 

“Unheard of,” said Cicero miserably. “Maybe it is true then. Cicero is not a real Dragonborn after all.” He looked devastated at the very thought. “The world is doomed and sweet Delphine of the Blades will not want someone who is not of the dragon blood in her bed.”

 

“Cicero, don't say that,” said Delphine putting an arm around him. “I've had others in my life before who weren't Dragonborn. Besides, we've both seen you take a dragon's soul on more than one occasion. You're definitely a Dragonborn.”

 

“Yes, you certainly are, don't worry about that, my boy,” said Esbern thoughtfully. “No, I think the problem is not with you but with the word. Maybe... of course! I have it.”

 

“You do?” Cicero asked, hope in his eyes. “Wise Esbern knows why Cicero's Voice is failing?”

 

“I think so, although I am no expert,” said Esbern. “Simply put, a full Thu'um comprises three words of power, the weak, the middle and the strong, and they must be spoken in order to achieve the full effect. Cicero, my boy, I think I have the answer. It's not you at all. The word you've learnt must be the second or third word of the Thu'um. On its own, it won't do a thing. You need to know the first word and start there.”

 

Cicero stared at Esbern, eyes widened.

 

“That is... I mean to say... You. Are. A Genius!” Cicero cried, flinging his arms around a stunned Esbern. “Cicero would never have worked that out on his own! Kind Esbern is a most benevolent and learned man, to help poor Cicero so!” He let Esbern go and turned to Delphine, ecstatic. “Cicero is not broken! Cicero is a true Dragonborn! Cicero... Cicero is still worthy of being loved by sweet Delphine.”

 

“Of course you are,” said Delphine, unable to stop smiling. “There was never any doubt in my mind about that.”

 

Cicero beamed, before turning his attention back to Esbern, eyes mere inches from Esbern's own, eager to know more. Esbern shifted back, more than a little unnerved by Cicero's 'friendly' smile.

 

“So? What is it then? What is the first word of the Shout that Cicero needs in order to breathe fire? Tell me, tell me, tell me! Cicero needs to know so that he can show his sisters and brother the consequences of teasing Cicero about his dragon blood.” Behind Cicero, Delphine could only roll her eyes. Time for yet another talk to Cicero about not using Shouts on his siblings. Using Ice Form on Aranea had only been funny the once.

 

“I'm afraid I don't know, Cicero,” Esbern said, rather apologetically. Cicero's grin abruptly vanished.

 

“What??” He grabbed Esbern by the shirt. “What does Esbern mean, he doesn't know? But Cicero needs to know! He needs to prove to the Family that he really can breathe fire like a dragon!” He let Esbern go, turning back to Delphine.

 

“Delphine, Delphine, tell him, he needs to read, needs to find out! Cicero needs to knoowwww!” he wailed.

 

“Cicero,” Delphine sighed. “If Esbern doesn't know, he doesn't know. Whining at him will not help! You'll have to go back to the Greybeards, like you were supposed to before all this with Astrid went down, and ask them.”

 

“But Cicero wants to know nowww!” Cicero cried, leaping off the table. “Cicero wants to breathe fire!!!”

 

Delphine's patience finally snapped. Walking away, she headed for the table and took a deep breath.

 

“EOLA! GET OVER HERE!” Time for someone else to deal with Cicero at his most petulant.

 

Eola broke off from throttling Sapphire in what Delphine presumed was a re-enactment of her fight with Astrid. Letting Sapphire go, she made her way over.

 

“What's up, Listener?” She noticed the frazzled look on Delphine's face and guessed rightly that only one person ever had that effect on her. “Oh dear. I hope everything's alright between you two. Never nice watching a close couple fall out.”

 

“Eola,” said Delphine, slowly pulling herself together. “You and Cicero are leaving tomorrow for High Hrothgar, where Cicero is going to ask the Greybeards about the Shout that downed Alduin and you are going to make sure he gets there, no deviations into every Nordic ruin on the way to see if there's a Fire Breath Shout lurking inside, no getting off the point with Arngeir, nothing. Understand me?”

 

Eola regarded Delphine sympathetically. “Don't worry, Delphine. I'll get him there. Why don't you go and have a lie-down, hmm? Catch up with the Night Mother, maybe, or just get some sleep. You've spent the last few days being nothing but awesome, why not have a rest, hey?”

 

“That sounds delightful,” Delphine moaned, desperate to get out of her armour and feeling her age for once. Leaving the rest of the Family to it, she headed for bed.

 

Cicero stared at her retreating back unhappily, wondering where he'd gone wrong.

 

“Delphine?” he whispered. “Has Cicero angered you?”

 

Eola patted him on the back. “She'll be fine, Champ. She's just very tired after a hard few days and needs some rest. Let her go and maybe later you can take her some of that red mountain flower tea she likes, add in a little moon sugar too, perk her up a bit. Although I recommend being very quiet while you do it. Now come on, Saffi and I had just got to the bit where you'd Shouted the place into Oblivion and Delphine had tackled Astrid into her own indoor lake.”

 

Cicero nodded assent, his mood picking up slightly. “I'm going to learn to breathe fire, you know,” he said, letting Eola lead him to a seat at the table.

 

“I don't doubt you,” said Eola. “You're going to learn all the Shouts and be the best damn murdering fire-breathing Dragonborn assassin Skyrim's ever seen.”

 

“Oh, Skyrim can count on it,” Cicero growled, helping himself to some mead. “When Cicero is done, Skyrim will _burn._ ”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Delphine blinked, slowly waking up in the sunlight. She'd shed her armour, leaving it in a heap on the floor, and collapsed into the bed, utterly exhausted. She had no idea how long she'd slept for, but she felt reborn almost. She only hoped Cicero and Eola hadn't hit the road already. Cicero wasn't in the bed next to her.

 

Sitting up, the first thing she saw was a simple cup containing a steaming liquid that looked awfully like Red Flower Tea. Someone had positioned it on a stand, a candle burning underneath to keep it warm. The next thing she noticed was her armour, picked up and assembled on the mannequin it was normally stored on, buffed and polished to perfection, and her dai-katana hung up on the weapon rack. Dragonbane shimmered and sparked next to it and Delphine felt her heart skip as she realised Cicero hadn't left yet. Picking up the tea and sipping it, realising that some thoughtful soul had laced it with Moon Sugar, she shivered as the hot liquid hit her taste buds. Gods, but that felt good. Whoever made this was truly gifted by the Divines themselves.

 

A noise from the corner caught her attention. The door to the Night Mother's room was open, although the coffin wasn't. Sprawled in front of it on a bedroll, his Dragonborn armour hanging off him and in dire need of a shave, was Cicero.

 

“Cicero?” Delphine asked, uncertain. “Why...?” Cicero's eyes flicked open.

 

“Listener,” he gasped, sitting upright. “You're awake. I – does my Listener like her tea?”

 

“Like a thousand Aedra are playing sweet music on my tongue,” said Delphine, inhaling the fumes in a state of bliss. “Your work?”

 

Cicero nodded. “Eola's idea. But Cicero made it. Is it well?”

 

“Very,” said Delphine. “And you did my armour as well? Sweetie, you didn't have to do that! Cicero, did you sleep on that bedroll? In your armour?”

 

Cicero nodded again. “Yes. He wasn't sure if Delphine wanted him in the bed.”

 

“Oh honey,” said Delphine, getting up and bringing the tea with her. “You're always welcome in my bed. Especially if you make this for me in the morning.” She settled next to him and slipped the armour off his shoulders. Picking up one of the oil bottles, she poured some into her hand and began to massage his shoulders. “Maybe you can be a little trying sometimes. Doesn't mean I don't love you.”

 

Cicero's eyes fluttered closed as Delphine's fingers set to work, kneading his muscles, soothing the aches and pains away. He couldn't stop himself groaning as fingers dug into shoulders before working down his back.

 

“Delphine,” he breathed. “Sweetness, you do not have to do this... not for me. Oh but don't stop. Please don't stop.”

 

“I won't,” Delphine whispered in his ear. “You're mine, Dragonborn. Means I get to do what I like to you. And right now, I like doing this. Problem?”

 

“No,” Cicero sighed. “Oh no.” Delphine smiled and kept on until Cicero was limp in her arms, mewling softly and helpless under her fingers.

 

“Bed?” she murmured, holding him up as he lay back against her, nestling in her arms.

 

“Oh yes,” he gasped, holding on as she helped him up and led him to the bed. He was soon stripped of his remaining clothing, lying on his back as Delphine crawled above him, kissing him gently, showering him with kisses all over his face, neck and shoulders before moving downwards.

 

“Delphine, what are – oh!” Cicero's eyes shot open as Delphine's hand circled around his cock and her tongue flicked its way up his length.

 

“Don't, you don't have to do that,” he whispered, although he made no move to stop her.

 

“I want to,” Delphine told him, tightening her grip, enjoying the way he reacted to her touch, the way his fingers clenched the bedsheets, and most of all the way his back arched and his head fell back as her mouth closed around him. With one hand on his stomach, pinning him down, and the other holding him in place, she went to work, lavishing attention on him with tongue and lips as he writhed beneath her, moaning and babbling incoherently, half the time crying out not to, he wasn't worthy, next moment begging her not to stop.

 

She felt him thrust beneath her, achingly hard and clearly close to orgasm. Leaving one final kiss on the tip of his cock, she made her way back up to his face, letting him go only to slide a knee between his legs, allowing him to grind against her.

 

“Cicero does not deserve such kindness from his Listener,” he whispered, gazing up at her. Dishevelled, flushed, eyes shining in adoration, he'd never looked more beautiful in her eyes.

 

“You made me tea,” Delphine murmured back, nibbling on his neck. “And you're beautiful when you're aroused. Don't fear me, Cicero, I could never stay angry at you for long.” She increased the pressure on his genitals, thrusting up against him then reaching down to grasp him, making the most of the oil still on her hand to slide smoothly up and down his shaft. “Come for me, Cicero,” she breathed into his ear. “I want to see you fall apart in my arms.”

 

“Yes, oh yes, my Listener is so good, aahh!” Cicero cried out as Delphine bit into his shoulder. They both knew he'd be bruised from that. Neither minded. Cicero clung on to her, the last semblance of control slipping from him as he came, hair falling back from his face as his back arched, and by Sithis, the poor boy looked absolutely _ruined_. Delphine held him, kissing his face as he shuddered to climax in her arms before falling limp, knowing she'd remember the look on his face for some considerable time.

 

“Something to remember me by,” she whispered. Letting him go, she cleaned them both up before retrieving her tea, cooled a little but still very much drinkable and returned to sit next to him, idly sipping it as Cicero lay prostrated on the bed, dazed but happy.

 

“No one has done that for poor Cicero for a very long time,” Cicero gasped, eyes still shut. “Cicero did not think anyone would ever do it for him again. Least of all my sweet Listener.”

 

“Think nothing of it. You're a joy to watch,” said Delphine, stroking his stomach. Cicero, his ticklishness starting to come back post-orgasm, giggled a little, shifting away from her. Delphine smiled and let him go. Dear sweet boy. So very adorable. She was definitely keeping this one.

 

Silence for a few minutes, then pale fingers slinked towards her and brushed her thigh.

 

“Were you satisfied? Do you need your Cicero to do anything for you?” The huskiness in his voice promised a multitude of erotic delights if Delphine only said the word. But not today. Regrettably, too much needed doing, and none of it would get done if she spent all day in bed with Cicero.

 

“Sweet boy,” Delphine smiled at him, taking his hand. “I'm fine. You were enough on your own. Rest now, join us in the main hall when you're ready. Be nice if you and Eola could be on the road by midday. Whiterun's a long way and High Hrothgar even further.”

 

Cicero nodded, already starting to doze off. Leaving him to hopefully sweet dreams, Delphine finished her tea, pulled her Blades armour on and headed out. Time to get down to business.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

With Cicero still asleep and the rest of the Temple tired from last night's celebrating still, breakfast was a fairly subdued affair. Even Aventus still looked sleepy, although he was smiling well enough at Eola, who was decorating his paper dragons and paper Cicero with some Forsworn warpaint. The little Cicero now had red hair and black armour and a truly scary face.

 

“OK, I think you have yourself a mini-Cicero there,” said Eola. “Now you have to let him dry first, but once that's done, he's all yours.”

 

“Awesome,” Aventus grinned. “Thanks Eola, you're the best! I'm gonna make a paper Eola next.”

 

“And I shall decorate her for you too,” Eola promised, smiling. “Now run along, I think the Listener has business for us. Morning, Delphine.”

 

“Hey Listener!” Aventus cried, running up to her. “Are you going to have some people killed today?”

 

“Perhaps,” Delphine smiled. “Don't know when they'll actually die, but I've got some things to plan towards.”

 

“Sweet,” Aventus breathed, as if this was the coolest thing in the world, and ran off towards the exit on to the courtyard.

 

“I do wonder if we're doing the right thing keeping him,” said Delphine, taking a seat across from Eola. “He's never going to grow up normal here.”

 

“Normal is overrated,” said Eola, nibbling on what Delphine hoped was bacon. “I mean, look at us, we turned out alright and none of us are normal.”

 

“But we are bad, bad people,” said Sapphire from the other end of the table where she was playing with the blade shards they'd found at the Falkreath Sanctuary. No one knew what they had once been, but they were pretty and shiny and clearly a little magical. “Not that it really bothers me, but it's a problem for some.”

 

“If we didn't kill them someone else would,” said Aranea, glancing up from her second volume of the Real Barenziah. “Better we do it quickly and get it over with, and with a relative lack of guilt because the deceased is unknown to us, than people do these things on their own, with all the messiness that usually involves.” She glanced at Calixto, who was reading a volume of the Wolf Queen and apparently oblivious to the conversation. “And because as the rest of you would likely be murdering your way through Skyrim anyway, you might as well get paid for it, hmm?”

 

“Speak for yourself!” said Delphine, fairly sure that had the dragons not come back, she'd still be running an inn, thank you very much. “Anyway, seeing as you're all here and the Dragonborn knows what he'll be doing, let's get to business. Eola, you're with Cicero, making sure he gets to High Hrothgar without any distractions. He knows the way, but your route should be to Whiterun first, then either take the long road to Ivarstead past Valtheim, or go via Riverwood and what's left of Helgen, over the pass and into the Rift that way. There's wolves in the pass, and bandits at Helgen, but I doubt that'll be a problem for you two. From Ivarstead itself, anyone'll point you in the right direction – just follow the steps up the mountain.”

 

“Sounds good,” said Eola. “I'm sure we'll be fine.” It was just a matter of making sure Cicero didn't get distracted. How hard could that be?

 

“I'm sure you will too,” said Delphine. “Now Sapphire, you volunteered for the Stone-Fist job, so you'll be off to Windhelm. Aranea, go with her in case back-up's needed, but don't get involved in the actual kill.”

 

Aranea and Sapphire exchanged grins, neither looking like they had any problems with this assignment whatsoever. Calixto finally laid down his book, guessing Delphine had something left in store for him. He was entirely correct.

 

“And finally, Calixto, one for you. Not a difficult kill, but it's a little complicated.”

 

“Complicated how?” he asked warily. Delphine passed a copy of _Uncommon Taste_ over to him. Calixto took one look and sighed, a pained look crossing his face.

 

“You want the Gourmet dead. The famously reclusive chef whose identity is known to no one. Delphine, I'm going to need a little more to go on than this.”

 

“Not no one,” said Delphine, smiling. “Take a look in the front.”

 

“Hey,” Sapphire interrupted. “Is that my signed copy of Uncommon Taste??”

 

“You left it in the kitchen,” Delphine replied. “I borrowed it. Same as you clearly did, unless your real name's Anton.”

 

“Anton Virane,” Calixto read. “Is he the actual target or do you just want his knowledge of who the Gourmet is?”

 

“Both,” said Delphine. “Get him to tell you who the Gourmet is, then kill him. Can't risk him tipping off his celebrity friend that people have been asking questions.”

 

“I can help you with that,” said Eola, eyes gleaming. “Not personally, I can't really be seen in Markarth at the moment. But talk to me after, I've got a few contacts in the city who might be able to help you out. Guy's the chef at the keep, I know all about what makes him tick. Send word that there's a shipment of the 'special' meat waiting for him at the stables. He'll be all yours.”

 

Calixto raised an eyebrow, but decided the questions could wait. If Eola's coven of Namira were willing to give him a hand, he was fine with that.

 

“What about you, Delphine, got anything else planned? That we're allowed to know about, of course.”

 

Delphine just smiled. “Just a little trip north. Nothing dangerous, no killing. I've got a little bit of thieving to do.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

So it was that the Blades Brotherhood went their separate ways, Calixto off to Markarth with a letter of recommendation from Eola in his pocket, Sapphire and Aranea off to Windhelm to get very popular with the local Dunmer, Delphine preparing for a little trip to Haafingar, and Cicero and Eola off towards High Hrothgar. At least, that was the plan.

 

“Cicero, I swear we're heading in the wrong direction,” Eola sighed, shivering a little in her Old Gods Armour. The tundra plain was a little windy to say the least. Still, she had her Shrouded gear stowed away for later use in the mountains. She could always get changed if she wanted.

 

“No, no, sister, Cicero knows where he is going, don't worry!” Cicero called, following the road north. Wait. North?

 

“Cicero, Whiterun is that way!” Eola cried, pointing east. “Look, you can see Dragonsreach from here! And look, that big mountain to the right of there? That's the Throat! So why in the name of Namira are we going north??”

 

Cicero hesitated, glancing guiltily back at her before breaking into a run. Eola, realising something was up, chased after him, shouting at him to get back here and explain himself. Great. Only their second morning out from Karthspire, having spent the night at Rorikstead, and already Cicero was off on one. Wonderful. She should have kept a closer eye on him at the inn, but she'd been tired and he'd not been, and he must have stayed up late chatting to that Erik boy who'd taken one look at their arms and armour and immediately wanted to be their best friend ever. Possibly rather more than that in her case, to the extent she'd retreated to bed early with a whisper in Cicero's ear that if he saw Erik going anywhere near their room, Cicero was to intercept and threaten with missing body parts. Cicero had liked that idea and spent the rest of the evening practically stalking the kid. Still, she'd had no problems from unwanted nocturnal visitors – the only person to crawl into the double bed in the middle of the night had been Cicero himself, but as always he kept his hands to himself and kept his clothes on from the waist down. Which was a little disappointing if Eola was honest, but Delphine's wrath wouldn't have been worth it even if Cicero had proved receptive.

 

Of course, right now Eola was cursing at him under her breath and sorely tempted to tackle him to the ground and spank him senseless anyway when she caught him, and to Oblivion with Delphine's reaction. She'd been told to keep Cicero in line, hadn't she? That probably meant she was allowed to smack him repeatedly when he misbehaved, right? Unfortunately for her, just as she finally caught up with him, he shouted “WULD!” and promptly vanished off into the distance again.

 

“Damn you, Dragonborn!” she howled at him. “Get back here!!” She chased after him for the best part of an hour until he finally raced up a hill and vanished.

 

“Oh Dagon's arse,” Eola sighed, trudging up the slope. “Where's he gone now? CICERO! Where are you??”

 

“Here, sister!” This was followed by a manic giggle and the sound of a door opening and closing. Eola staggered to the top of the hill, her legs close to giving out. Below her was the sunken entrance to what was clearly an old Nordic cairn. Great. Exactly what Delphine had warned he might do. No sign of Cicero, he was evidently inside already. Sighing and readying her weapons, she made her way down and let herself in.

 

Down a winding passage, Cicero was found poking around a room, frowning. There were several dead Draugr around and all the signs of a fight.

 

“You never did all this in the last minute,” said Eola. Cicero was good but not that good.

 

“No,” said Cicero, cursing as yet another urn looked to be empty. “Someone else has been here, and recently too. Ooh, this chest's locked – if only the lock wasn't one a child could open.” Seconds later, it was open and Cicero was checking the contents. A handful of septims, a healing potion and some lockpicks was all, but it was better than nothing.

 

“Cicero,” Eola sighed. “Why are we here?” As if she couldn't guess.

 

“Why does my sister think?” Cicero asked, rolling his eyes. “The boy Erik with wandering eyes that roamed a little too freely over Cicero's sister told Cicero of this place. Dustman's Cairn is its name, and Cicero thinks he may learn a word of power here. Maybe the one that will let him breathe fire, yes?”

 

“Delphine is gonna flip,” Eola scowled. “The one thing she said not to do and here you are, doing it.”

 

“Delphine does not have to know?” Cicero said hopefully, sidling up to Eola and peeping up at her through his eyelashes. Not cute. Definitely not cute. Or appealing. Not in any way, no.

 

“Fine,” Eola sighed, wishing she wasn't quite such a soft touch when it came to Cicero. “Come on. We'll check this place out, see what there is. But if things get dangerous, we're off, you hear me?”

 

Cicero squealed, dancing on the spot and hugging her. “Thank you thank you thank you! Dear sister, Cicero is very glad he has you for company.” Letting her go, he made for the passage leading onwards. Trailing after him, Eola could only hope this didn't go horribly wrong. Of course, that was when they heard the roar of a savage beast, a woman screaming and the mother of all fights breaking out up ahead. Eola cast her mage armour and raced after Cicero, who'd already taken off in the direction of the sound. Someone had to keep him out of trouble, and she was all he had.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Eola rounded a corner to see Cicero crouched, taking aim with his bow – or trying to. Truth was, there were so many combatants, it was difficult to see what to hit. She crouched behind him, surveying the scene. A motley force of humans, elves and orcs was facing off against one huge werewolf, while a young Imperial woman a bit younger than Eola was trapped behind a gate, screaming abuse and rattling the bars. What any of them were doing down here was anyone's guess, although from the look of it, the werewolf's opponents were mostly dying. Before either Cicero or Eola could react, the werewolf shredded a Redguard woman, decapitated a Bosmer and tore apart the remaining bandit, a big Orc with a greatsword. Eola noticed Cicero looking visibly nervous. Then of course the beast turned and saw them, growling. Cicero let off the arrow he'd nocked, but it seemed to just annoy the beast rather than do much damage. Roaring, it raced towards them.

 

Eola cast a fire rune in front of it, right as Cicero shouted “FUS RO DAH!” The rune exploded and the beast was sent flying into the far wall, crashlanding in a pile of urns and embalming equipment. To Eola's surprise, the trapped woman screamed something like “Farkas!” but she couldn't think about that now. Deal with the animal first then interrogate the girl. Drawing blades, Eola followed Cicero as he advanced, Dragonbane in hand.

 

The werewolf was lying unconscious, smoke rising from it. As they watched, fur vanished, muscle shrank, joints shifted and the beast became man. Still a big, muscular man though – a well-built Nord with dark hair and war paint and wearing very very little.

 

“Oh hi!” Eola breathed, unable to take her eyes off him. “Fancy seeing you here!”

 

Cicero glared at her. “Stop staring at his gentlemanly parts, hussy!” he hissed. “At least wait until he's awake!”

 

“Hey, I'm just looking,” Eola pouted but she did manage to drag her eyes to the man's face. Fortunate really because he was opening his eyes, wincing.

 

“What... what happened?” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Who are you? Are you with the Hand? No, can't be...” His voice trailed off as he saw Eola. “Say, what's a Forsworn doing down here?”

 

“I'm not a Forsworn,” said Eola, pointing her swordpoint at his chin. “I just look like one. I could ask why you're here.”

 

The man looked a bit confused but nodded. His eyes travelled over Cicero, fixing on the red hand on his front. “Red Hand. Huh. Ain't never heard of them. What do you guys kill?”

 

“People who don't answer questions,” said Eola.

 

“You get away from him!” the Imperial woman shouted. “I mean it! I'll kill you both.”

 

Cicero and Eola both glanced at her then each other and didn't even bother to hide their pitying smiles.

 

“Is the child with you?” Cicero asked. The Nord nodded.

 

“Yeah. She's Ria. I'm Farkas. We were here looking for something. Except we found Silver Hand instead. They're kinda like a Dark Brotherhood who hunt werewolves and vampires and undead. Guessing you're not with them or you'd have killed me.”

 

“A Dark Brotherhood who hunt the undead?” Eola asked. “You ever heard of anything like that, Cicero?”

 

Cicero just sneered at that concept. “Sister, when the real Dark Brotherhood hunt a werewolf, it doesn't take six of them.” He sheathed Dragonbane, apparently convinced Farkas wasn't a threat – not to them at least. “Farkas can rest easy, Cicero and Eola are not after him. We are looking for

something too. Would you and Ria appreciate assistance?”

 

“Let me get dressed,” Farkas said, rubbing his head and wincing. Eola watched from the corner of her eyes while Farkas pulled his armour back on and tracked down his weapons, chief of which was a rather nice steel greatsword.

 

“Nice weapon you got there,” said Eola, nodding at the blade and ignoring the look Cicero was giving her. “Very shiny.”

 

Farkas sheathed and grunted in thanks. “Skyforge steel. Best steel in Skyrim.”

 

Eola's eyes widened. She'd heard of the Skyforge all right. “Er... Cicero?” she called to him. “You might want to tread carefully. These aren't run of the mill mercenaries here.”

 

Cicero had already skipped over to where Ria was clutching her own blade. Wouldn't do her much good with a gate separating them, but Ria felt safer that way. Especially with Cicero grinning in through the bars.

 

“You stay away from me,” she warned him. “I'm warning you!”

 

Cicero tutted, shaking his finger at her. “Now, now. Pretty Ria should not be so hostile to poor Cicero. Especially she should not hold her sword at him like that.” He paused, noting several things about her stance and her grip that screamed novice or apprentice swordswoman at best, and decided to play nice for once. “No really, sweet and innocent Ria should not hold her sword like that, an enemy could disarm her in seconds. Tell me the wolf Farkas didn't train you. Does he wish Ria to die?”

 

“You better watch it, _morio_ ,” Ria snapped, using the Cyrodiil slang word for jester. “I'm with the Companions!”

 

That did give Cicero pause. “The Companions, you say.” He turned to Eola, who was shrugging sheepishly.

 

“Tried to tell you, Champ,” she said apologetically. “Farkas's blade's Skyforge steel.”

 

“Really?” That did impress Cicero. “Skyforge steel? Cicero would like some Skyforge steel. Sharp, sharp for easy stabbing!”

 

“Yeah, it's sharp all right,” Farkas growled, pulling on the last of his armour. “And yeah I'm a Companion. Ria – not so much yet. This was meant to be her trial, prove herself as a Companion. Didn't expect the Silver Hand to be here though. Or you two. Not sure if we can really count this as her trial now, not if you two are helping her out.”

 

“No!” Ria cried, heartbroken. Unexpectedly, Cicero found himself feeling rather sorry for her. Seeing a lever through the open gateway, he skipped over and pulled it, releasing Ria.

 

“Please!” she cried, rushing out to face Farkas. “It's not my fault these two turned up! We can still get the fragments at least, surely?”

 

“Fragments?” Eola asked.

 

“Of Wuuthrad. The ancient axe of Ysgramor, our founder. Broken long ago. We heard there was a fragment of it buried here,” said Farkas, still frowning. “Ria's our latest recruit, this was meant to be a way for her to prove her honour and skill so she could be a full member. I'm here to watch her back and make sure she doesn't get herself killed, but she's meant to do it alone.”

 

“Well, we could hang back with you,” Eola suggested. “I can do magical back-up and Cicero's great with a bow. You won't even know we're here.”

 

“Nor will your enemies,” Cicero purred. “Sweet Ria can go ahead and fight – we will sit back and take care of enemies she perhaps hasn't seen yet. After all, if you were not expecting this Silver Hand, this second-rate Dark Brotherhood to be here, would not extra blades be useful? We do not want your fragments, Companion. We have another treasure to seek.”

 

“Well...” Farkas took in the row of hopeful faces all staring up at him and relented. “All right. We'll all go. Just don't kill everything before Ria's had a chance to get a swing in, OK?”

 

“Yes!” Ria shrieked. “This is awesome, thank you Farkas! I'll be the best Companion ever!”

 

“We'll see,” Farkas growled. “Just don't make me regret it.”

 

“There is one thing,” said Cicero, turning to Ria. “Hold out your sword in an attacking position.”

 

Ria looked a bit confused but did as bid. “OK. But why?”

 

Cicero immediately peeled her left hand off the hilt and adjusting the grip and arm positioning of her right. He then stood behind her, told her to shift her stance and took hold of her wrist, showing her how to swing the blade properly.

 

“Now, hold it like so across your body and swing, that's it. Go fast enough at that angle and you'll cut them right open. If they're not well-armoured enough, that's a gut wound, which means likely death, although they can still wound you, be warned.”

 

“But I don't want to...” Ria began, then stopped as she saw the look on Cicero's face. He let her go, hands on his hips.

 

“Dear child Ria has not killed an actual person before, has she?”

 

Ria went scarlet, staring at her feet.

 

“What, never?” Farkas demanded. “I didn't think... I thought you'd had a bit of experience!”

 

“Animals!” Ria cried. “Animals and... and I beat Elrindir up the other day! But I never killed anyone! I thought this'd just be Draugr, I didn't think there'd be people here too...” Her face fell as she took in the others, all three of whom were clearly well experienced in the art of killing people, even the girl who didn't seem to be more than a year or two older than her. To her surprise, it was the scary leather-clad jester who placed a hand on her arm.

 

“Then do not fear. Cicero will be behind you to help. He is very very good at killing people.” He flashed her a smile that was all teeth and murder.

 

“I believe you,” Ria whispered, backing away nervously.

 

“Excellent,” Cicero crowed, taking the terrified girl by the arm and leading her off into the next room. “Then come with me and do what I do, and you too shall become very very good at it. Come, come, we shall start with sneaking. For if you wish to kill someone, the easiest way to go about it is if they do not know you are there!”

 

Farkas watched him guide Ria off and drop into a crouch with her, advising her on posture, giving her a few other words of advice and pointing her off in the direction of the corridor. Ria glanced back at them, clearly petrified but doing as told.

 

“I don't think this is what Kodlak and Skjor had in mind,” said Farkas, looking very dubious about the whole thing. “Eola, is he... honourable?”

 

“He's a very principled man,” said Eola, thinking of all the times Cicero had, despite his bloodthirsty nature, been kind, generous and compassionate. “Loves his mother. Loyal to the last. Protective of his loved ones. Very obedient to his dear leader. He's been a good friend to me, and he's a truly terrifying fighter. He'll keep Ria alive, don't worry.”

 

“Yeah, but will he keep her honourable?” Farkas growled, dropping into a crouch himself as he crept after Cicero and Ria.

 

“Well, that's what we're here for, right?” said Eola as she followed. She just hoped Cicero didn't let slip who they were. She had a feeling the Companions wouldn't take too kindly to members of the Dark Brotherhood tagging along for the ride.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It wasn't long before they crept up on two members of the Silver Hand hanging about in the corridor up ahead. Ria stopped dead, looking frantically at Cicero for help. Cicero placed a finger to his lips and unslung his bow.

 

“Do not whisper,” he murmured. “Whispers carry. Just lower your voice if you need to speak at all. Now, Cicero will shoot that one with his bow and the aid of a little poison. That will take care of that, and then you can fight the other one. Remember, just stop him hitting you and ensure you're not between him and Cicero. Get ready now.” Cicero laced one of his dwarven arrows with poison and took careful aim. The nearest Silver Hand turned towards them, frowned, drew his weapon, but before he could do anything, the arrow took him through the throat. He collapsed to the ground, clawing at his throat, dead before he hit the floor. At the other end of the corridor, the other one came running.

 

“You picked a bad time to get lost, friend!” he roared, battleaxe at the ready. Cicero hit Ria on the shoulder.

 

“Go!” he whispered. “Charge him down like a raging beast!”

 

Screaming, Ria raced forward, sword at the ready. The bandit's axe swung down – too slowly. Ria's momentum had taken her straight past the Orc and she was safe. Spinning around, she came back for another go, shutting her eyes as she swung her blade. To everyone's surprise, not least her own, it hit the Orc in the back before he could recover and turn to face her, drawing blood. He

staggered back, cursing. His mood didn't improve when Eola fired a few Ice Spikes at him.

 

“Now! Finish him!” Cicero cried, another arrow at the ready. Behind him, Ria could see Farkas drawing his greatsword, preparing to charge the man down, but she was determined to get this over with herself if she could.

 

“I'm sorry,” she whispered and swung her sword down. It bit into the Orc's shoulder... and got stuck. The Orc roared and staggered to his feet, his right arm still working and just about managing to hold his battleaxe. Seeing Ria now unarmed, he made for her. Ria crouched, sobbing. The axe didn't fall. An arrow had pierced the Orc's throat and then he had no throat at all as Farkas' blade sliced his head clean off. The Orc's body fell to the ground, and then Farkas was helping her up, patting her on the shoulder

 

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed. “I'm so sorry. Divines, I was hopeless, wasn't I?”

 

“Don't say that, sister,” said Farkas gently. “He's dead, you're not and you did wound him. Not bad for a first kill.”

 

“I didn't kill him though,” said Ria tearfully. “You and Cicero did. I think Eola did more damage than me too.”

 

“Well, that's why we have Shield-Brothers and Shield-Sisters, to watch each other's backs,” said Farkas.

 

“Yes, and also to distract our kills so we can strike unseen!” Cicero crowed, doing a little dance on the spot. He noticed Farkas glaring at him and stopped dancing, clearing his throat.

 

“You did well, Ria,” said Eola, sidestepping the blood that was pooling on the floor. “You just need to hit them in the more vulnerable areas next time. Gut, neck, kidneys, joints, that sort of thing. Mmm... kidneys.”

 

Farkas wrenched Ria's sword out of the Orc and handed it back to her. “It's stuck in deep. Pretty good hit, that. He'd have bled to death eventually, you just needed to fall back long enough. Come on, let's get moving.”

 

They ventured on, and slowly Ria began to get a bit more confident. She hadn't killed anyone yet, she didn't think, but it was getting easier to hit them and not get disarmed or hurt in the process. Eola's magic flashed through the air, Farkas' sword cut through bodies and Cicero was everywhere, almost dancing past his opponents, that sparking katana blade and that brutally sharp ebony dagger slicing into arteries and sending enemies, Draugr and Hand alike, collapsing to the floor. Finally, they made their way into the central burial chamber.

 

“No one around,” said Ria, glancing around nervously.

 

Eola eyed up the coffins. “Not yet, no. Go on ahead, I'm going to leave a rune here just in case.”

 

Cicero had seen what he was looking for up ahead – a huge Word Wall at the far end of the chamber. Leaving the others behind, he raced up to it, scanning the wall eagerly. Eola followed, curious to know if it was what Cicero had been after. From the gleeful look on his face as he turned to face her, she could tell it was.

 

“Sister, this is it. Shul, it means Sun, this is it, I know it. I _feel_ it!” Cicero danced on the spot, delighted. “Cicero shall breathe fire! Dovahkiin am I!”

 

Ria had followed behind, and if she knew what the Dovahkiin was, she gave no sign of it. She was more intrigued by the blade shard on the table.

 

“It's here,” she cried. “Farkas, look, I found it!” She lifted the fragment off the stand it was on to show him. There was a grating sound, and at the back of the room, a coffin fell open and Eola's rune exploded.

 

“I was afraid of that,” Eola sighed, casting her armour and summoning an Atronach.

 

“Cicero isn't,” Cicero grinned, drawing his weapons and readying himself for a fight.

 

Draugr after draugr burst out, one by one. The four of them dealt with them well enough at first, but numbers soon built up. Farkas was in one corner, fighting off two of them, while Eola was slashing at one while another had a Frost Atronach pinning her Flame Atronach into a corner. Cicero had no idea where Ria had got to, but with three Draugr on his case, one of which was shooting frost magic at him, he really had other priorities right now. Still he had one trick up his sleeve.

 

“SHUL TOOR!” Nothing. No fire, no flames, nothing. Cicero realised with dawning horror that Shul wasn't the first word either and more to the point, that he was in trouble. He thrashed out with Dragonbane but he was tired and these Draugr were strong. One of them raised an ebony war axe to strike him down.

 

“IIZ!” That took care of that one, but the one wielding frost magic was still there and so was the other one. He tried to shove Dragonbane through the thing's chest but he was moving slowly due to the frost magic, too slowly and the other one's sword struck his back. It glanced off the dragonscale, but Cicero staggered under the blow, falling to his knees.

 

“Eola!” he gasped. “Sister, help!” _I don't want to die, not like this..._

 

A sword blade erupted out of the Draugr's stomach and then back out again. The Draugr turned to face its new opponent, sword raised.

 

Ria dodge the blow aimed at her and struck again. There wasn't a lot in the way of finesse behind her strikes, but there was plenty of determination. Then a blow caught the Draugr between the ribs and the light in its eyes went out. Behind Cicero, a fireball from Eola had caught the other Draugr and sent it falling to its knees, and Cicero wasted no time dispatching it and rolling away, staggering to his feet.

 

The ice encasing the final Draugr melted away and it raised its axe to strike. Cicero raised Dragonbane to parry the blow, but there was no need. Farkas charged it down, Skyforge steel at the ready, and took its head off in one sweeping motion.

 

The Draugr's remains crumbled to the floor, and Cicero realised that the only people standing were him, Eola, the two Companions and the Draugr Eola had reanimated after her Atronach had been killed.

 

_I'm not dead. I still cannot breathe fire like a dragon, but I'm not dead and nor is Eola._ _Thank Sithis._

 

Eola rushed over to his side and began checking him over.

 

“Are you alright?? You were on the floor at one point, I thought...” She didn't finish the sentence, but the relief and anxiety on her face said it all for her.

 

“Sweet Eola was worried,” Cicero grinned.

 

“Course I was worried, you think I wanted to have to explain to Delphine how you died doing exactly what she said not to do?” Eola rolled her eyes, passing Cicero a healing potion. “Drink up, it's a long walk to Whiterun and I'm not carrying you.”

 

“We did it!” Ria cried, barely able to contain her excitement. “We got the fragment and none of us died, and I killed a Draugr! Did you see, Farkas?? Cicero, you saw, I killed it! By myself!”

 

“I saw,” said Farkas, nodding in approval. “I saw you take on a stronger opponent to save someone else and emerge victorious. Sure, you've still got a few things to learn, but that's all right, we can train you in technique. You're a fast learner too – Cicero showed you a few things once and you were doing it all naturally by the end. Finally, you're fast. Maybe you weren't hitting them that often, but they weren't hitting you either. You've got natural talent at blocking and dodging. That's worth working on. It'll keep you alive long enough for a Shield-Sibling to help you. Well done, Shield-Sister. Welcome to the Companions.”

 

Ria squealed with joy and flung her arms around Farkas. “Thank you!” she cried. “Thank you so much!” She let him go, leaving him looking rather non-plussed, and turned her attention to Cicero.

 

“And you! Thank you too! I could never have done this without you. You've been so sweet and patient and kind, and you've taught me so much! Thank you, I will never forget you.” She cuddled him and kissed his cheek before turning to Eola, leaving Cicero rubbing his cheek, entirely unsure how to react to that.

 

“Thank you too, it's nice to see another girl who can fight. There's only two others at Jorrvaskr and Aela's really scary and aloof while Njada's just unpleasant. But you're really friendly and you can manage both magic and a sword. I've never seen a mage who can fight before.”

 

“There's not many of us, it's true, especially in Skyrim,” Eola admitted. “I've heard the Companions are mostly big, burly Nord men who despise magic, but don't flinch from it yourself if you have the talent for it. Never think you're the only girl who can fight either. The little group me and Cicero work for? Nearly all women, and our leader's the fiercest woman of us all. Don't lose hope.”

 

“If you're done, sister, it's time we got back to Jorrvaskr,” said Farkas. He nodded respectfully at Eola and Cicero. “Thank you both. You're good warriors. Brave. Honourable. Didn't freak out when you saw a werewolf bearing down on you. I like that. The fact one of you's the Dragonborn is just a bonus. Yeah, I know the Voice when I see it, Cicero. Either of you ever decide you want to join up with us, just show up at Jorrvaskr, ask to speak to Kodlak Whitemane. I'll put in a word for you.”

 

Eola looked at Cicero, who seemed as surprised as she was.

 

“Thanks, we'll keep it in mind,” said Eola, trying not to burst out laughing. “If our current line of work ever gets dull, we'll definitely think about it, won't we Cicero?”

 

“Oh of course,” Cicero nodded. “Mighty Farkas is most generous. Sister Eola and I will not forget him or kind-hearted Ria in a hurry.”

 

Farkas nodded. “That's settled then,” he said gruffly. “You said you were going to Whiterun too, right? Well, come with us. Road can be dangerous, best we travel together.” He headed for the exit, leaving Cicero and Eola to carry out the traditional looting of the room. Ria skipped after Farkas, cheerful as anything now she knew she really could fight when pushed to it.

 

“Honourable. Us,” said Cicero, scratching his head. “Eola, has that word changed its meaning in recent years? Cicero did not think the Companions got on with the Dark Brotherhood.”

 

“Nor did I!” Eola giggled. “We'd probably best keep that to ourselves, eh?” She picked up the ebony war axe from the dead Draugr's hand. “Keeping this to myself too, it's shiny! Man, feel the weight on this thing, this could crack someone's skull right open.”

 

“Yes, and it was nearly poor Cicero's skull getting cracked with it,” said Cicero. He glanced at the chest in the corner, still untouched. “Sister dear, if the two Companions are not interested in that...”

 

“Yay treasure!” Eola squealed, racing over to it and flinging it open. She began rooting through the contents. “Huh. Steel armour – useless to us. Dwarven bow – yours is better, I don't do archery, ooh, Elven arrows, you can do something with them, I think. Black soul gem, mine thank you very much, and a ring of recharging too, also mine. Iron mace with a shock enchantment – well, someone might want to disenchant it, I suppose. Septims, shiny septims, lots! You can carry those. And what's this, I wonder?” She pulled out the last item, an irregular silver sphere. “Hey, Cicero, any idea what this-”

 

“ANOTHER HAND HAS TOUCHED MY BEACON,” an imperious female voice rang out. Eola's eyes widened as she turned to Cicero.

 

“Did you hear that??”

 

Cicero looked back at her, expression polite but blank. “Hear what, sister?”

 

“Listen, mortal,” the woman snapped. “You might be one of Namira's, but I know you helped Azura, so you can do the same for me. You're to take my beacon to its rightful home, to my temple at Kilkreath. Return it, and I might have a little reward for you. Fail... and things won't go so well.”

 

The voice fell silent. Eola turned to Cicero, trying to work out if she was actually going insane or not.

 

“Um. Cicero. I just heard this strange woman telling me I need to take this thing to some place called Kilkreath.”

 

Cicero gasped, amazed. “Eola... heard a voice? Was it... was it Mother? That's... Cicero has never heard of there being _two_ Listeners before. Did she say anything else?”

 

“She mentioned that although I was one of Namira's, she knew I'd helped Azura,” said Eola, thinking hard. “Cicero, I think she was a Daedric Prince.”

 

Cicero sighed with relief. “Thank Sithis. Two Listeners, or the Night Mother making Eola Listener instead, that would have been awkward. Do you know which of the Daedra it was?”

 

Eola shook her head, unable to take her eyes off the beacon. It was glowing faintly with a silver light, patterns shimmering on its surface. “It's kinda pretty though. Do you know where Kilkreath even is?”

 

“No,” sighed Cicero. “But we will ask Farkas and Ria if they know, and if they don't, we will head on to High Hrothgar. And if the Greybeards don't know, Delphine has been all over Skyrim. She will know.”

 

“Yeah, but that means telling her we were doing what she expressly said not to,” Eola pointed out, stowing the sphere into her pack.

 

“So we tell her we found it on the way back,” said Cicero. Eola did look up at that.

 

“Why Cicero, are you suggesting we **lie** to our beloved Listener?” she said in mock disapproval. “I'm ashamed of you, Dragonborn. And she's meant to be the love of your life too.”

 

“Me?” Cicero raised an eyebrow. “It's Eola's sphere. She can lie to the Listener about how she found it if it bothers her that much. Cicero will own up to his part in things and take whatever punishment is on offer.”

 

“Yeah, that's more like you,” Eola grinned. “Come on, Whiterun's a good few hours away, and we've got another long day tomorrow.”

 

“It's true,” Cicero sighed, taking her arm. “High Hrothgar is far, and Cicero is resigned to not finding out how to breathe fire before he gets there.”

 

“You'll manage it someday, you know,” said Eola. Cicero nodded sadly.

 

“Cicero knows. Cicero just hopes it's soon.”

 

Together they followed the two Companions out. It was an unlikely pair of friends they'd made that day, but still Cicero found himself liking both Farkas and Ria. He decided there and then that if he ever had to kill either of them, he'd at least do them the honour of calling them out in combat. They deserved to die with a sword in their hand. Had he but known it, in making that promise, he'd just proved Farkas right.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Rolff Stone-Fist was at it again. Swaggering around outside Sadri's close to midnight, mead in one hand, the other clenched in a fist. The guards took one look and ignored him, walking on by.

 

“Damn you, grey-skins! Get out of our city! We don't want you here! We don't need you stinking the place up! Go on, get back to Morrowind, you Empire-loving bastards and take your frigid women with you! Damn cocktease grey-skin sluts...” He paused to take another drink and noticed a Nord woman in red and black armour watching him, unimpressed.

 

“What?” he snarled. “What do you want, eh?”

 

“I don't like your attitude,” she said, letting her arms fall to her side as she stepped forward. “What did the Dunmer ever do to you, eh?”

 

The shutters and curtains at the windows of Sadri's fluttered, and Viola Giordano, having just stepped out of the New Gnisis Cornerclub, stopped to watch, curious.

 

“They're a bunch of stinking Empire-lovers!” Rolff snapped. “What, are you a damn Imperial? Or are you some sort of elf-lover?”

 

The woman grinned. “Not exactly. I'm hoping to be after this though.”

 

“You're no true Nord,” Rolff growled, swaggering forward. “You're just some little whore begging for some grey-skin cock, aren't you? Well I'll show you what a real cock looks like. Come here, bitch.” He reached for his dagger, draining the last of his mead and throwing the bottle away.

 

“Somebody do something!” Viola cried. Several Dunmer had joined her from the Cornerclub, but they were all watching silently, a strange tension in the air. No one made a move.

 

“You want a piece of me, Stone-Fist?” the woman asked, dark and sultry voice to match the rest of her. “Come and get me.”

 

Rolff roared and raced forward, reaching out to grab her. The woman neatly side-stepped, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. The dagger was soon out of his hand, and Rolff was swiftly grappled to the ground. He threw a few punches at her, most of which failed to connect, and she dealt him a sharp back-hander that sent him reeling.

 

“I really don't like obnoxious drunks,” she said, her gaze hardening as she drew her own dagger, a long and lethal glass blade that gleamed in the torchlight. “You know what's even worse than that? Obnoxious drunks that won't take no for an answer. Windhelm's better off without you, Stone-Fist. True Nords know their worth. True Nords don't need to beat down on other people to make themselves feel better.”

 

“Who are you?” Rolff whispered, all his bravado gone and real fear now in his eyes. Even Viola had gone quiet.

 

The mysterious woman crouched next to him, lowering her voice as she prepared to strike.

 

“Doesn't matter who I am. But you ought to know who sent me. Delphine wants your filth out of the city and I'm here to oblige her.”

 

“Delphine?” gasped Rolff, memory cutting through the alcoholic haze. “That useless whore's still alive?”

 

“She is,” the woman replied, eyes narrowing. “But you're not.” A swipe of the knife later, and Rolff was bleeding out into the snow. Sapphire cleaned the blade and looked up. Viola Giordano looked horrified, the assembled Dunmer had been stunned into silence, and even the guards weren't moving to arrest her.

 

“Self-defence,” said one of them, shrugging. “He shouted abuse at you, went for you with a knife, you killed him to save yourself. On your way, kinswoman.”

 

Sapphire didn't need telling twice. Sheathing her blade, she ran for the safety of the House of Curiosities.

 

Aranea was waiting as Sapphire let herself in, breathless.

 

“You did it?” she asked, flinging her book to one side and getting up, her eyes shining. Sapphire nodded.

 

“Yeah,” she gasped. “Dumb fuck was too drunk to fight back. Best of all, Viola Giordano the city gossip saw everything, and the guards all decided it was self-defence and looked the other way because he'd drawn a blade first. Guess the Nords didn't like him either.”

 

“And you?” Aranea asked, placing hands on Sapphire's shoulders and looking her over, still that strange intensity in her eyes. “You're not hurt?”

 

Sapphire shook her head. “No, I'm fine. I mean, he got a couple of punches in, but it's nothing, really- mmph!”

 

Aranea had closed the gap between them and was now kissing Sapphire, pushing the other woman up against the door, one knee sliding between Sapphire's legs. Sapphire moaned and pulled Aranea closer, kissing her back, pushing her hood back to reveal that gorgeous hair curling around her face. Aranea was reaching for the fastenings on Sapphire's armour, breaking off the kiss to concentrate on the task.

 

“What brought this on?” Sapphire gasped.

 

“Got tired of the awkwardness,” Aranea growled. “Also every time you smiled, I kept wanting to kiss you. Then you killed Rolff Stone-Fist for me and now I really would rather like you in bed with me, if it's not too much to ask.”

 

“Liked it the first time then?” Sapphire grinned, undoing the straps on her top half and shrugging her armour off. Aranea's eyes clouded over.

 

“I don't _remember_ the first time,”she said sadly. “All I know is something happened with you and Cal involved and it left me tingling for _days._ Azura, you're stunning.”

 

Sapphire had stripped her top half entirely, entirely unembarrassed. Aranea couldn't take her eyes off Sapphire's beautiful breasts, nipples erect due to the chill in the air, or maybe not just the chill.

 

“Are you cold?” Aranea asked, brushing her fingers over Sapphire's nipples, making the other woman shiver.

 

“No,” Sapphire breathed. “Mara, you're so damn warm, I'd almost forgotten.”

 

Aranea slid fingers into the front of Sapphire's armour, finding the dampness between her legs, brushing soft curls aside to find Sapphire's clit. Sapphire let out a moan that was almost a sob as Aranea set to work, fingers sliding deeper in to find her centre. She clung on to the Dunmer's shoulders, crying out as Aranea kept the pressure up, stroking and rubbing and adding another finger to the one that had crept inside her. Then Aranea was kissing her again and Sapphire could take it no longer. She clung on, moaning as Aranea's tongue slid into her mouth and her thumb rubbed her clit. Sapphire cried out as the orgasm hit, shuddering to climax in Aranea's arms. Aranea withdrew and held on to Sapphire, stroking her hair and gently kissing her face.

 

“Bed?” said Aranea softly. Sapphire nodded.

 

“Whatever you want,” she whispered, still dazed and allowing Aranea to lead her away. “I gotta ask though, is this just a one-off thank you for killing Rolff or is this going to be a regular thing? Cause Cal's gonna be heartbroken if it is. Not that it'd stop me, but...”

 

Aranea placed a finger to her lips. “Bed now. Sleep. In the morning, we make love and then we can talk, yes?”

 

That Sapphire had no problem agreeing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going away for the weekend, so am posting this early for you. I'll see if I can write some more while I'm away but no guarantees, certainly won't be posting for a bit.
> 
> Next update will have Cicero returning to High Hrothgar and attempting to persuade Arngeir to help him... and then there's Paarthurnax.


	17. The Throat of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero returns to High Hrothgar with two aims - to find the Shout to use on Alduin and learn how to breathe fire. Of course, in order to do those things, he must first persuade Arngeir that he is actually still following the path of wisdom and not consorting in any way with the Blades...

 “ _You are delaying returning my beacon. In fact, you are going in the wrong direction!_ ”

 

“Cicero, it keeps talking to me!” Eola wailed, trudging after him as they climbed up the Throat of the World. “It's not pleased. Cicero, make it stop!”

 

“What is Cicero meant to do exactly?” Cicero demanded, lashing out with Dragonbane and impaling a wolf that had chosen that moment to leap out on the wrong person. “He has many talents, but he is not negotiating with the Daedra.”

 

“We could go back?” Eola asked, ever hopeful. Cicero wiped Dragonbane clean before sheathing it and turning back to her.

 

“No,” said Cicero firmly. “We have not come all this way just to turn back now. We're nearly there. And as it turns out this Kilkreath place is on the other side of Skyrim, whoever they are will have to wait. Now if dear Eola could _possibly_ be ready with some magical support? This canyon had a frost troll last time Cicero was here, he does not wish to fight another one without mage fire at his back.”

 

“Fine,” Eola sulked, casting mage armour and readying some fire spells. She'd exchanged her Forsworn gear for her Shrouded armour, retaining only the magicka-boosting headdress. Partly due to the cold, partly due to the constant comments from the local Nords. Whoever designed Forsworn armour clearly hadn't factored in the possibility of its wearer wanting to venture out of the Reach ever. “Hey, Daedra lady, I'm sorry, I will totally return your beacon, but first I have to accompany my brother to talk to these Greybeard guys and make sure he doesn't get lost or side-tracked or distracted because Namira help me, he's got the shortest attention span on the planet and -”

 

“EOLA!” Cicero shouted, glancing back as he fended a frost troll off, Dragonbane slicing into its skin as Cicero attempted to parry its claws with his dagger. “WHERE IS MY MAGE FIRE???”

 

“Excuse me,” Eola sighed, and sent twin firebolts slamming into the troll's side. It turned from Cicero, bearing its teeth and roaring at her. Eola shrugged and kept sending firebolts piling into it until her magicka ran out. Fortunately, by that point, one stroke from Dragonbane ended its miserable life.

 

Cicero knocked back a healing potion, having taken a few nasty hits from the troll before Eola had finally deigned to stop talking to the crazy Daedra and given him a hand.

 

“Why is there always one here?” Cicero sighed, trudging on through the snow. “How in the name of Sithis do they get up here? No frost other than that on this mountain for miles, and there can't be that many living up here...”

 

“You only came up here twice,” Eola pointed out. “Maybe this is the other one's mate. You killed its partner, so it came for revenge.”

 

“Well, now they're reunited in the Void,” Cicero growled. “I hope they're very happy together.”

 

“You old romantic,” Eola laughed, taking his arm. Cicero just shrugged.

 

“I am all heart. Sithis forbid such a lovely couple should remain apart because of poor Cicero.”

 

They fell silent, walking together up the rest of the trail until High Hrothgar itself loomed up ahead. Eola shifted nearer to Cicero apprehensively, and she could feel him getting tenser.

 

“It'll be alright,” she said. “They like you, right?”

 

“Last time I was here, Master Arngeir told me off for consorting with a member of the Blades and told me they'd forge me into a great and terrible weapon, as if Cicero was not one already. Cicero did not know Delphine was Listener then, and he may have promised peace-loving Arngeir that he would cut ties with Delphine and go his own way...”

 

Eola dissolved into a fit of the giggles, and it wasn't long before Cicero had done likewise. Finally, Eola pulled herself together.

 

“Oh dear. How's that promise working out for you, Champ?”

 

Cicero shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes. “Oh sister. What is Cicero supposed to tell them when Arngeir asks how he is following the Way of the Voice? How can foolish Cicero convince him he's still on the path of wisdom?”

 

Eola looked him over. “Won't lie to you. We've got our work cut out. Don't suppose you got any outfits that don't scream Dark Brotherhood assassin, do you?”

 

Cicero shook his head. “Cicero only has his armour. Which has the Dark Brotherhood symbol on the front and an Akaviri symbol on the back. Oh, and his katana blade which was a gift from lovely Delphine. Sister, if Cicero wished to advertise his allegiances, he could not have done a better job.”

 

“I could lend you my Old Gods armour?” Eola offered.

 

“Sithis no, it would never fit and I'd like to go in wearing actual clothes. Especially in this.” He indicated the snow, which was now falling steadily.

 

“Well, we'll just have to make the best of it,” said Eola. “We'll tell them we're freelance mercenary-adventurers, you met me in the Reach and helped me clear out the family tomb after it got infested with Draugr, and we've been bumming around Skyrim ever since in search of Words of Power. You've learnt a few of them, right?”

 

“And the armour and Blades katana?” Cicero asked.

 

“You made the armour yourself. You saw the symbols on some old temple somewhere, same temple you found the sword in. And you've not seen Delphine in ages. Come on, Champ, it's just a few itty-bitty lies. You can do it! Namira has faith in you.”

 

Cicero swiftly removed the Ring of Namira and pocketed it. One less thing to attract possible questions that he didn't want to answer. He also slung Dragonbane over his shoulder and under his armour to make it a little less obvious that he was carting the legendary dragon slaying weapon of the Blades around. It would have to do. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to meet the Greybeards again.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The monastery itself was as cold and quiet as ever. At least, it was until Cicero bounded in.

 

“Oh Master Arngeir!” he trilled, skipping into the central hallway. “Helloooo!!!! Cicero the Dovahkiin has returned! Arngeiiiiiirrr! Where ARE youuuuuu?”

 

The Greybeard kneeling by the nearby shrine looked up, sighed heavily, got to his feet and strode out. Behind Cicero, Eola watched, apprehensive.

 

“Friendly.”

 

“Oh Eola should not worry. The other three do not talk. He has probably gone to fetch nice Arngeir.” Cicero didn't seem remotely bothered, bouncing up towards the back stairs.

 

“Shouting is noisy and heard far and wide! When the jester starts Shouting, Skyrim should hide!” Cicero sang. The noise certainly did echo throughout the monastery. If this Arngeir didn't yet know the Dovahkiin had arrived, he would now.

 

Sure enough, Arngeir soon strode into the room, looking rather stern. Eola began to wonder how this was going to go, but Cicero, despite his earlier nerves, didn't seem bothered.

 

“Arngeir, kind Arngeir, Cicero is back!” Cicero cried, skipping over to face Arngeir and bouncing on the spot, although to be fair, the latter could have been to avoid straining his neck looking Arngeir in the eye. Damn but these Nords were tall.

 

“Cicero has been travelling all over Skyrim, dear Master Arngeir, learning the Thu'um and fighting dragons and meeting all sorts of interesting people. And now he is back at High Hrothgar to see kind Arngeir again and hear his wise words.”

 

“So I see, Dragonborn,” said Arngeir wearily, looking Cicero up and down. “Cicero, who is your friend?”

 

Cicero beckoned Eola forward, putting an arm around her. “Arngeir, this is my dear friend, Eola. Cicero met her in the Reach after her family tomb became infested by Draugr and helped her, and now they are bestest friends and travel Skyrim together. Eola, this is Master Arngeir, who taught humble Cicero about being Dragonborn and how to Shout.”

 

“It's a pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Eola, smiling her most charming smile. Unlike Cicero's, it didn't immediately make people make the sign against the evil eye and back off, but she couldn't entirely hide the predatory gleam in her eyes either. Arngeir nodded briefly at her before turning back to Cicero.

 

“So Dragonborn, I presume you had a reason for coming here. Your outfit leads me to believe that you haven't yet forsaken a warrior's path.”

 

“It's lovely, isn't it?” Cicero cooed. “We helped a nice armour-maker in Riften, and she made me this. Eola helped a bit too. It is armour to deal with dragons in.”

 

“Quite,” said Arngeir, frowning. “Why the hand print on the front?”

 

“Er...” Cicero began, his mind going blank. Fortunately, Eola had the sort of mind that worked well under pressure.

 

“It's an ancient symbol of my people,” said Eola. “You know, the natives of the Reach. Among us, it's a warning to be careful of the wearer and to treat them with respect. You know, because Cicero can Shout and all? We thought it'd be a good thing for a Dragonborn to wear, so that people know he can kick their butts in a fight without having all the unpleasantness of finding out firsthand.”

 

Cicero nodded enthusiastically, silently relieved. Given that a raised open palm in Reachman culture did actually mean 'about to cast a Destruction spell', it wasn't even technically lying.

 

“Looks more like the symbol of the Dark Brotherhood to me,” said Arngeir sceptically. “But I'm sure a Dragonborn committed to the Way of the Voice and the path of wisdom would never have anything to do with them. Would they now, Cicero?”

 

“Never!” Cicero lied, schooling his face into a very picture of righteous disapproval.

 

“My old Ma would have never approved of me having anything to do with the Brotherhood,” said Eola, entirely truthfully considering the Listener had decapitated her.

 

“Hmm.” Arngeir did not look convinced but let it go. “Well then, Cicero, what is it you want to know? I will tell you what I can.”

 

“Well,” said Cicero, “dear Eola and I were travelling in search of Words of Power and on our travels we heard tales of a Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky. Cicero thinks that might be very useful, especially as the beasts seem to keep finding him. Would Arngeir know anything about it?”

 

Silence. Arngeir had gone very still, face hardening in fury. Cicero shuffled a little nearer Eola, not really wanting to know what Greybeards did when they got angry but preferring to be safely behind a barrage of mage fire if everything went south.

 

“Where did you find out about that. Who have you been talking to?” Arngeir's voice had gone horribly stern.

 

“I... um...” Cicero managed to stammer, mind a blank and even Eola not able to think up a convincing excuse, and then Dragonbane chose that moment to come loose and slip out of Cicero's armour, clattering to the floor. Arngeir's eyes flicked to the katana and back to Cicero, and it wasn't even the anger in his face that got to Cicero the most. It was the disappointment.

 

“So. You have been consorting with the Blades. After promising us you would part company with them. After all my warnings, all my words on the subject, you have forsaken the path of wisdom and thrown in your lot with those violent dragon-murderers and warlords. And you have the nerve to come here for assistance? Do you really think we will teach the secrets of the Thu'um to one who will go out into the world and misuse them? Go, Dragonborn. We are done here.” Without another word, he turned and walked away.

 

Cicero watched, stunned. A cold feeling of horror sunk deep into his bones as he realised he'd failed, failed utterly, failed Delphine, failed the world and not only that, he'd never be able to breathe fire now.

 

“But... what... no, we can't be!” he cried, sprinting over to the other side of the room to intercept Arngeir, clutching his hat in both hands and dancing frantically on the spot, blocking the Nord from leaving. “Cicero needs to know! Cicero needs to know the Shout that downs dragons so he can kill Alduin and save the world and so pretty Delphine doesn't get her soul eaten by Alduin!”

 

“Pretty Delphine?” Arngeir sighed. “Kynareth help us, she went as far as seducing you. Are there no depths the Blades won't sink to?”

 

Cicero lowered his hat, eyes narrowing. “Now wait just a minute, Arngeir. Cicero did most of the seduction, thank you very much. Had he left it up to Delphine, she'd still be agonising over the whole thing and denying she was anything more than passingly fond of her Cicero.”

 

“Dragonborn, please, spare me the details of your tangled romances,” said Arngeir tersely. “This conversation is finished.” He made to move past Cicero, but if there was one thing Cicero was good at, it was wearing people down through a process of attrition. Wherever Arngeir tried to move, there Cicero was, looking hopeful.

 

“Please?” Cicero asked, fluttering his eyelashes. “Please please please please please please please?”

 

Behind Arngeir, Eola stepped up to get a closer look at the master at work. She idly wondered how long it would take for Arngeir to lose his temper. Probably not long.

 

“Cicero,” said Arngeir, hands on his hips. “Do not make me Shout you out of the way.”

 

“Tell me the Shout that downs dragons and Cicero shall leave and be on his merry way,” Cicero smiled.

 

“Dragonborn, I have already told you no. Not only have you strayed from the path of wisdom, I am not entirely certain you even know what wisdom is.”

 

“Oh, Cicero is only a poor, simple fool and happy to remain so,” said Cicero, demented grin still fixed in place. “But how will he ever know what wisdom is if Arngeir will not share any with him? How is he meant to save the world if Arngeir will not tell him how?”

 

“Have you perhaps considered that maybe the world is not meant to be saved?” said Arngeir, heartily wishing the world would end right now and rid him of this annoying jester. “That perhaps all things must come to an end eventually and that Alduin is merely a part of the natural order of things? That death is as much a part of existence as life?”

 

Arngeir regretted the words as soon as they'd left his lips. Cicero's eyes widened, a look of utter joy crossing his face.

 

“Sister, did you hear that? Arngeir knows! He understands!” He clapped Arngeir on the shoulders. “Dear Arngeir understands our Dread Father! Of course Cicero understands the importance of things ending. How could he not? He's been responsible for enough things ending after all. However, Cicero regrets that he's already accepted the contract against Alduin, and if it was truly the will of Sithis that we all die, well, Cicero thinks Mother would have said. So. Cicero has to save the world and prevent lots of innocent people dying. Cicero had no idea Arngeir was in favour of the deaths of the innocent – he should have said sooner. Had Cicero known, he would have been more than happy to help. As it is, once Alduin is dealt with, Cicero shall be ready to slaughter as many innocent people as dear Arngeir desires. Is there anyone Arngeir particularly wishes taken care of first?”

 

“I am not in favour of murdering innocent people!” Arngeir cried, going red and wondering how on Nirn this conversation had got out of hand so fast. He'd heard the dragon blood could be difficult to handle, but even he'd not thought he'd end up with a Dragonborn that was actually insane.

 

“So, Arngeir will help Cicero save the world then?” Cicero asked slyly. Arngeir gave in, ready to weep.

 

“Yes, yes, I will help,” Arngeir sighed, rubbing his forehead. It would take weeks of meditation to get over this, he could just tell. Cicero actually squealed and for one horrible moment, Arngeir feared Cicero was going to hug him. However, Cicero settled for capering merrily on the spot instead.

 

“Sister, we did it, we did it, and now Arngeir will help us and tell us how to kill Alduin!” Cicero's dance came to an end and now he was nose to nose with Arngeir, staring deep into Arngeir's eyes, lunatic grin on his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Arngeir noticed the other one, the woman Eola watching. She was actually looking fairly sympathetic.

 

“Yeah, sorry about that. He does this,” she said, grinning. “So this Shout then?”

 

“Yes yes, tell Cicero the Shout! The Shout he needs to knock a dragon from the sky and end the World-Eater!” Cicero had not moved, still expectant. Arngeir took a step back, feeling a sudden craving for personal space.

 

“Cicero, I am afraid I cannot tell you the Shout... because I do not know it.”

 

Cicero's demeanour changed abruptly, the grin fading.

 

“What,” he said softly. “Does Arngeir mean to tell Cicero that after all this, he does not in fact know the answer to Cicero's question? That Cicero went to all this trouble for _nothing??_ ”

 

He took a step forward, teeth bared in what was unquestionably not a smile, and for the first time in a long time, Arngeir began to feel truly afraid.

 

“I said I do not know it myself,” said Arngeir hastily. “But I know how you can find out.”

 

Cicero relaxed, the snarl fading. “That is better. So, will you tell Cicero?”

 

“You'll need to speak to the leader of our order. Paarthurnax.” Yes, let Paarthurnax decide what to do with the lunatic. With any luck, Paarthurnax would decide to eat him and neatly solve an awful lot of problems at one stroke.

 

“Where might Cicero find this Paarthurnax?” Cicero asked, still using that same soft, dangerous voice.

 

“On the top of the Throat of the World. The path is dangerous and you aren't yet ready. Probably you never will be. But thanks to the Blades, you have questions only he can answer. Here. A final gift to you, Dragonborn. _Lok Vah Koor!_ ” The words of the Thu'um appeared on the floor. Cicero leapt on them, scanning them intently as they blazed and faded.

 

“Sky Spring Summer?” Cicero enquired, one eyebrow raised. “Is Cicero to give his enemies heatstroke now?”

 

By Kynareth, Arngeir would be heartily glad to see the back of this one. Taking a deep breath, he gifted his knowledge of the Shouts to Cicero.

 

“The path is treacherous and the mists cold,” said Arngeir. “You will need to use your Voice to open the way, Dragonborn. Pass through the gate in the courtyard, the one you have yet to step through. At the top of the mountain, Paarthurnax will be waiting. If he agrees to help you, so will we. If not, we can be of no further use to you.” Turning away, he strode out towards the Greybeards' main living quarters. He wasn't normally given to hedonism, but there was still some mead left and by Akatosh, he deserved some after putting up with this.

 

Eola approached Cicero, holding Dragonbane out to him.

 

“I think you annoyed him,” she said. Cicero just shrugged, taking the sword off her and fastening it around his waist.

 

“He implied vile things about Delphine. Arngeir is lucky he does not have Cicero's knife in his gullet.”

 

“She did only befriend you in the first place because you were Dragonborn,” Eola pointed out.

 

“Befriend, yes. Seduce, no. She's not some common doxy like he was implying,” Cicero growled. “Come sister, let us go meet this Paarthurnax. We can but hope he proves to be rather more obliging.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It took nearly two hours to get to the top of the Throat, Cicero shouting at the mist to get it to clear with Eola trekking behind, shivering in her armour and casting a Flame Cloak to keep warm. It also came in handy when the Ice Wraiths showed up.

 

Finally they made it to what looked like the summit. No one there. Not even a shack. But there was the familiar sight of a Word Wall. Cicero raced towards it, heart in his throat. Could this be the final word of the Fire Breath Shout? Maybe even the dragon killing shout perhaps? He staggered over to it, heedless of a strange shimmer in the air around it. The wall itself was all he cared about.

 

It was blank. No carvings. No Word of Power. Nothing. Just smooth stone curving in front of him.

 

“Blank? Blank??” he screeched. “How can it be _blank???_ Cicero did not come all this way for snow and cold and a _blank Word Wall!!_ ” He spun round to face Eola, who was watching him nervously. “Eola, _we have been lied to!_ Come, sister, we are going back to High Hrothgar. Tonight you're dining on Nords!”

 

Now this was strange. Normally he'd expect this to put a smile on dear Eola's face. She wasn't smiling, in fact she looked worried. She was staring at the sky behind him. Then a familiar-looking shadow swept over them, along with a gust of wind that kicked snow flurries into the air, and the ground shook as a huge dragon landed behind Eola, who was already turning with lightning at the ready.

 

“I didn't know they could fly this high,” she whispered, incredulous.

 

The dragon, for once, wasn't attacking. It was just looking at them, curious. Cicero felt his blood chill as he came to a horrifying realisation.

 

“The dragon has _eaten Paarthurnax!_ ” he shrieked. “The only one who could have told us how to defeat Alduin and this _beast has eaten him!_ Cicero shall end you, lizard!”

 

The dragon made a snorting noise and Cicero could swear the thing was _laughing_ at him. He had Dragonbane half-drawn and was ready to leap into action when he felt Eola tugging at his sleeve.

 

“Um, Cicero? I think that dragon _is_ Paarthurnax.”

 

Cicero let Dragonbane slip back into its sheath, feeling blood rush to his cheeks. “Cicero knew that,” he said hastily. Trying to look confident and unafraid, without as much success as he'd have liked, he approached the dragon, hoping Eola was right and that this was actually Paarthurnax, peace-loving and non-violent leader of the peace-loving and non-violent Greybeards, and not a dragon that wanted to play with its food before eating it.

 

“Er... hello. Does Cicero have the pleasure of addressing Paarthurnax?”

 

No doubt about it, the dragon was definitely laughing.

 

“ _Drem Yol Lok, joorre._ It is not often I get visitors. I am indeed Paarthurnax. What brings you to my _strunmah_?”

 

Beside him, Eola had lowered her hands, now staring at Paarthurnax with unmitigated joy.

 

“He's a dragon,” she breathed. “Oh my actual gods, we're talking to a dragon!”

 

“Sister, please,” Cicero sighed. “Yes, he's a dragon, I worked that out myself.” He turned back to Paarthurnax, hoping the dragon wasn't too offended by his sister's inane babbling. “Good sir Paarthurnax, we were sent here by wise Master Arngeir of the Greybeards, who said you would be able to help us. I am Cicero and this is my dear sister Eola.”

 

“I know who you are, Dovahkiin,” came the response. Paarthurnax's expression was difficult to read, but something in his manner seemed a little more serious now. “I heard your Thu'um – have been hearing it all over Skyrim for some time now. But I did not know who you were – did not know your name. Now... now I know you, Dovahkiin.” Paarthurnax lifted his head, rearing back as if to strike. Cicero scrambled away, hoping he'd not made a fatal error somehow.

 

“ZII-ZAH-RO!” Paarthurnax roared, and Cicero felt something reach into his chest, seeming to grab his heart, constrict around it and fill him with some sort of power, a sensation not unlike having his soul turned inside out, set on fire and sent flying off into the Void. Then it was gone and Cicero was on his knees breathing heavily, with Eola at his side, arm around his shoulders and staring at him as if he'd nearly died.

 

“What did you do to him??” Eola cried at Paarthurnax.

 

“I called him, _joor_ Yol-Ah. Named him in our tongue, named him as is traditional to a newly emerged hatchling. The unbalanced mind, Zii, Zah and Ro, that is what it means. A cursed name to give, but one that could mean greatness. Will he fall into madness? Or soar to the heights? No one can tell. Still, names are not destiny, as my own proves. Come, Zii-Zah-Ro. Rise. When two of the Dov meet for the first time, there are... formalities that must be observed. By long tradition, the eldest speaks first. YOL TOOR SHUL!”

 

Fire blazed over Cicero and Eola's heads, a torrent of flame that seared into the Word Wall. Both of them crouched, only daring to look up when the heat had died down. Cicero gasped to see a glowing Word of Power engraved into the Wall. Scrambling to his feet, he dashed over to it, reading it, seeing it, knowing it, feeling it.

 

Behind him, a rush of power flowed out and into him, power freely given, not taken and as it settled into his soul, Cicero felt the final pieces of the puzzle click into place.

 

“A gift to you, Zii-Zah-Ro Dovahkiin. Know fire as the Dov do. Now, Dovahkiin. Your turn. Let me hear your Thu'um, _mal zeymah,_ little brother. Do not fear hurting me, these scales are strong.”

 

Cicero turned to face Paarthurnax, all fear gone. Mal zeymah. Little brother. _I'm Dovahkiin. I'm... a dragon. Not just Cicero the Fool. Not even Cicero the Man. Cicero the Dovah. And I can breathe FIRE!_

 

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” he screamed, fire streaming out from him as the fireball hit Paarthurnax. He didn't seem to mind, laughing and revelling in the heat. Cicero was dimly aware of Eola shrieking in triumph, but that was secondary. His throat felt parched, but he'd done it.

 

“Cicero can breathe fire!” he gasped, face alive with unholy glee if he did but know it. “Sister, sister, did you see??”

 

Next thing he knew, Eola had pounced on him, arms and legs around him as she flung herself into his arms. Cicero caught her and swung her around, depositing her back on the snow, both laughing in delight.

 

“You did it, Champion!” Eola shouted, doing a dance of victory. “A fire-breathing jester Dovahkiin are you!”

 

“Truly, yes!” Paarthurnax laughed. Their good mood was clearly infectious, for the dragon seemed as pleased as they were. “Your Thu'um is strong, Dovahkiin. I taught you one Rotmulaag, and you gave me three back. _Mal zeymah_ you are in truth. Ah, it is long since I had the pleasure of _tinvaak_ with one of my own kind. So, my brother, what can I do for you? Surely you did not come to the top of the Monahven just to admire the view. If Arngeir sent you, it must be important, must it not? The Greybeards are most protective of me, they would not send even you here without good cause. May I presume it is to do with my older brother Alduin?”

 

“Alduin's your brother?” Eola asked, wide-eyed. “Oh. Er. Cicero, maybe we should just be going...”

 

“Cicero hopes Paarthurnax is not too attached to his older brother then,” said Cicero, holding his ground and meeting Paarthurnax's eyes steadily. “Cicero is with the Dark Brotherhood and has accepted a contract against Alduin. He is looking for the Shout that will knock a dragon from the sky.”

 

Paarthurnax seemed neither pleased nor angry at this, just resigned to the inevitable.

 

“I knew it would be so. Yes, Yol-Ah Fire Huntress, he is my brother... or at least he was once. Firstborn of Akatosh, mightiest of us all, Alduin the World-Eater. Once I followed him. Once I terrorised all of Keizaal in my wrath.”

 

“What happened?” Cicero asked, wide-eyed. “No one even knows Paarthurnax is here now. Except the Greybeards and they don't talk.”

 

“I grew old, Dovahkiin,” came the response. “I grew old and tired, tired of the blood, tired of the fighting. Then I was injured in a fight and hid to recover. It was one of the joorre who found me, and he took pity on me. He saw I was too weak to fight and spared me. I did not understand, for I would never have done the same to him. So I asked why, and he spoke to me of honour. Of how a man or woman's reputation is the most precious thing they have, and how it is far better to die and be spoken well of than live and be thought badly of. That he did not wish to be remembered as one who would take advantage of someone too weak to fight back, even though I might recover and go on to kill him later. I did not understand how one who is mortal could throw their life away for what seemed so little, and so I resolved to learn more. Instead of killing the joorre, I would observe. I would talk in secret to them. Oh they feared me at first, but when I was true to my word and did not harm them, returning them home safely after I had spoken to them, they began to trust me. In turn, as I learned more, I began to respect and even love them. I could not harm them after that. I left Alduin's side, could not stay after hearing of his cruelties from his victims. In time, warriors started to come to me, mighty men and women who had spoken with me as children and wished to learn from me. Of course I helped them. When the weak are being overpowered by the strong, not to take a side is to side with the strong. I taught them the Thu'um, and the first Tongues were born – joorre who could speak like the Dov do. Most took to it slowly, learning by rote, mastering each Rotmulaag with effort. But a few, oh a few! They learnt like we do, instantly, easily, mastering the Thu'um in weeks. We called them the Dovahkiinne, the ones with the souls of Dovah. Dragonborn. Like you.”

 

“Like me,” Cicero whispered, imagining it properly for the first time. A whole line of Dragonborns, stretching back thousands and thousands of years. His ancestors. He'd never thought of it like that before – the Brotherhood was the only Family he'd needed. He'd never known his father, and his mother had been killed when the Dominion sacked the Imperial City. His beautiful mother, hair like his, fierce and fiery, a one-time Legionnaire turned blacksmith, said by the neighbours to have a tongue so sharp, her voice could knock a dragon out of the sky. How ironic.

 

“And they beat Alduin with your help?” said Eola. Paarthurnax smiled.

 

“Yol-Ah. Had they truly defeated Alduin, your brother would not be here now, seeking to... defeat him. For a time, they banished him. But not forever.”

 

“Cicero shall make it forever,” said Cicero, fingering Dragonbane. “When Cicero kills things, they do not come back, he assures you!”

 

“A brave boast, Zii-Zah-Ro,” said Paarthurnax, approving. “I like your spirit. Of course, many others have made the same boast. It did not prevent Alduin killing them.”

 

“So tell me how!” Cicero cried. “The Shout that knocks dragons from the sky! Teach it to humble Cicero so he can use it on Alduin! Once Cicero has the beast on the ground in front of him, he promises you he can do the rest!”

 

“I believe you, _zeymah_. But first,” and here Paarthurnax was looking rather speculative, “a question. Why do you want to defeat Alduin, truly? I have heard of the Vul Zeymahhe. They normally care little for life. Why does one of their number wish to prevent death and destruction?”

 

“What? But... why...” He turned to Eola who just shrugged.

 

“Sorry, bro, I got nothing. Just tell him. Isn't asking mortals awkward questions about why they do what they do how Paarthurnax got started on the path of wisdom?”

 

Cicero threw up his hands, frustrated.

 

“Because there's a contract! Because Esbern, friend of the Listener, wants Alduin dead. So as Cicero is the only Dragonborn there is and the only one who can do this thing, Cicero has taken the contract and Cicero will fill that contract because that is what he does! He's a Dark Brotherhood assassin! The Listener gives him his orders, he carries them out and gets paid! In coin, shiny, gleamy coin!”

 

“So,” Paarthurnax mused. “Your Kriid-Huzrah has told you to do it. Is that it, Dovahkiin? Truly? Coin your sole motivation? I must ask how much the fee was. I could not even begin to calculate the price that must have been levied on Alduin's head.”

 

“We're being paid for this?” Eola raised an eyebrow. “What with? Esbern doesn't have any money!”

 

“We're not being paid exactly,” said Cicero, feeling a little awkward. “Esbern is an old friend of Listener Delphine's from when she was a Blade. Cicero thinks it is more of a personal favour.”

 

“A personal favour!” Paarthurnax laughed. “Kriid-Huzrah Delphine must think very highly of this Esbern to take on Alduin for free. Dovahkiin, the truth now.”

 

“Does it matter?” Cicero snapped, losing his patience. “Delphine asked, Cicero obeys. That is all it is. That is all there needs to be. Cicero does not have any other purpose in life. Cicero doesn't need one. Killing Alduin will make Delphine happy, and she will smile at her Cicero and call him a good boy, her beloved Dragonborn, and that will make Cicero very very happy indeed. Also if Alduin does not die soon, he will eat the world, everything, all of us, including our souls. Cicero doesn't value his own that highly... but he doesn't want Alduin to eat Delphine. Or Eola. Or any of his other brothers and sisters. Cicero likes this world! Cicero has a Family and a Listener and shiny blades and things to stab. He's happy! He's not been happy in a very long time. The world can't end. Not now. Cicero doesn't really deserve happiness, he knows that. But he also knows that life is not fair and frequently over, and he will fight to keep what he's got. If that means fighting Alduin, then Cicero will do it. That is why, Paarthurnax.”

 

Cicero's voice had softened as he'd gone on, and the last sentence was just a whisper as he stared up at Paarthurnax, eyes full of emotion. Paarthurnax tilted his head, considering.

 

“Even if fighting to cling on to this world prevents the next being born.”

 

Cicero just shrugged. “That is not Cicero's problem. He just follows orders. If Akatosh wants the world dead, he can perform the Sacrament like everyone else.”

 

Paarthurnax sank on to the snow, head thrown back, laughing now, truly helplessly laughing. Cicero didn't think he'd ever seen a dragon laugh before, not like this anyway. Of course, this sight set Eola off and now he was faced with one thirty foot dragon prostrate on the snow, and Eola sitting next to him, leaning on Paarthurnax for support.

 

“You're both insane,” he sighed, hands on his hips. Eola slowly pulled herself together, drying her eyes, and Paarthurnax leaned forward, reaching out with that long neck to nudge Cicero affectionately.

 

“So, let me see if I understand Zii-Zah-Ro correctly. He wishes Alduin dead for many reasons, partly because it will make the woman he clearly loves happy, partly because he's in love for the first time in a long time and wishes this state of affairs to continue, and partly because if Alduin eats the world, there will be no one left for Zii-Zah-Ro to kill.”

 

“Yes!” Cicero cried, relieved that Paarthurnax had finally understood. “Now can he please know the Shout that will kill Alduin?”

 

“Ah, Zii-Zah-Ro,” Paarthurnax sighed. “So young. So idealistic. A mind at once both simple and very hard to fathom. One who loves fiercely and kills just as easily. Truly I cannot predict whether madness or greatness will be your end, Dovahkiin. Maybe both.”

 

“He's got the first one down perfectly,” said Eola, picking herself up and brushing the snow off.

 

“Hussy, be quiet. Cicero is not the one being nagged by a glowing sphere, is he? Now, this Shout. For which Cicero has come a very long way, up all those steps.” Cicero folded his arms, waiting patiently.

 

Paarthurnax lowered his head. “The Shout you want is called Dragonrend. Crafted by the Tongues in years gone by to strike out at a dragon's very soul, forcing it to land... for a time. Yes, it will make Alduin vulnerable but it will not kill him outright. For that, you must rely on your own skills, although I have no doubt yours are... considerable.”

 

Cicero nodded, knowing exactly what he was capable of. “So, the words. What are they?”

 

“Zii-Zah-Ro,” Paarthurnax sighed. “This was a Shout crafted by the joorre. By mortals. We of the Dov, we cannot even comprehend its concepts. Our hadrimme, our minds, they cannot hold them, cannot grasp them. The Shout slides from our hadrimme as soon as we hear it. I cannot teach you this Shout. But I do know how you might find it out.”

 

Cicero's shoulders had slumped, and he was just about ready to burst into tears or scream out of sheer frustration.

 

“What must Cicero do?” he sighed. Sithis knew it was highly unlikely to be simple.

 

“There was a reason I chose to make my home here, on the Monahven,” said Paarthurnax, curling himself into a sitting position rather like a giant, scaly cat. “It was here that Alduin was banished from the world. Three heroes of the ancient Nords, friends of mine, they challenged him here. Hakon One-Eye, Felldir the Old, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt. The Nords have had many heroes since, but none greater.”

 

They sounded perfectly annoying to Cicero, but he decided not to comment. They had been dear Paarthurnax's friends, after all.

 

“So how did they do it? And how does that help us?” Eola asked, confused. “They can't teach Cicero Dragonrend if they're dead.”

 

“They used Dragonrend,” said Paarthurnax. “But it did not avail them, not on its own. Alduin was still too strong. So they used other magic. A Kel, an Elder Scroll. Its power set Alduin adrift on the currents of time, banishing him from their time... but not forever. Some thought we were safe, but I always knew it would be otherwise. I knew he'd find a way back. It was why I settled here. I knew where he would emerge, but not when.”

 

“They used an Elder Scroll to send Alduin forward in time,” said Eola, stunned. “Well. There you go, Champ. All you need to do is get yourself an Elder Scroll and you're all set.”

 

“An Elder Scroll?? Is that all?” Cicero snapped, kicking at the snow. “Oh yes, those are easy to find, every general store's got one of those out the back! Shall we stop off in Whiterun, pick one up?” Scooping up a handful of snow, he patted it into a ball and threw it at the Word Wall.

 

“I did not say it would be easy, Zii-Zah-Ro,” said Paarthurnax gently. “But it is the only way. Not to send Alduin out of time, no. He must be dealt with here and now, not left again for future generations. Not when the finest assassin in Keizaal who is also a Dovahkiin is here. But the Scroll, if brought back here to the wound made when the Scroll first rent time to send Alduin falling through it, it could send you back through time, to the other end of the wound, to see Dragonrend used for yourself.”

 

“That sounds... dangerous,” said Eola. “Messing with time travel and all.”

 

“Sister, it cannot be any more dangerous than breaking into the Thalmor Embassy, or braving the Ratway, or breaking out of Cidhna Mine, or any of the many other dangerous things you and I have done since we met,” said Cicero thoughtfully.

 

“It's an Elder Scroll!” cried Eola. “We're messing with the very fabric of space and time! We could break the universe!”

 

“Oh Eola, don't fuss,” said Cicero, grinning. “Humble Cicero is not going to break the universe. That's not going to happen, is it, Paarthurnax?”

 

“It's a possibility,” said Paarthurnax, flexing his wings a little as he sat up. “But a very small one,” he added, seeing the worried looks on their faces. “Dovahkiin, I have faith in you. Besides, if you do not do this, there will be no universe left to break.”

 

“Well then,” said Cicero, flexing his own shoulders in an attempt to imitate Paarthurnax. “Cicero sees he has very little choice. Where is this Scroll?”

 

“Now that, Dovahkiin, I do not know,” Paarthurnax admitted. “It is long since I have had news of the world below. You are likely better informed than I.”

 

Fortunately for all concerned, Eola recalled something before Cicero actually did lose his temper.

 

“There was this guy at Winterhold, first few months I was there. Septimus something or other. Was some sort of expert in all things Elder Scroll-related. Well, so they said anyway. He didn't really talk to anyone except old Urag the Librarian, then he left on some expedition. Don't know where, but Urag might. If you could find him, he might know where to find one.”

 

Cicero's shoulders sagged, misery writ large on his face. “Winterhold. The College of Winterhold. The one place in Skyrim Eola cannot go with her brother. Of course. Of course!”

 

“Champ. You'll be fine.” Eola went over and gave him a hug. “It'll be OK. We'll head back home, tell Delphine all this and then she'll work something out. You'll see.”

 

Cicero nodded and turned to say his goodbyes to Paarthurnax. The dragon bade them farewell and good luck before taking off into the sky, circling the mountain. Taking Eola's hand in his, Cicero began the trek back home.

 

“Sister,” he began, something occurring to him. “When we report back to Delphine, we do not have to tell her quite everything, do we?”

 

“What do you mean – oh.” It dawned on Eola that maybe Delphine might not approve of Cicero consorting with dragons. “You don't want her to know about Paarthurnax.”

 

“She said she would wipe them from the skies of Tamriel,” said Cicero, remembering her words to Astrid. “Cicero doesn't have any real problems with killing dragons in general, but he likes Paarthurnax. He called Cicero his brother, named him in the dragon tongue, taught him to breathe fire, was kind to him. Cicero wouldn't want him to die, still less would he like to be ordered to kill him.”

 

He felt Eola squeeze his fingers and knew without having to look that she was smiling.

 

“I wouldn't know, Cicero. You went off with the Greybeards and left me kicking my heels on my own in the hallway. I got no idea what you guys were even talking about. There's nothing on top of the Throat but snow and rocks as far as I know.”

 

Cicero looked up, grin spreading across his face. “I knew I liked you for a reason, sweet Eola.”

 

“I like you too, Cicero,” said Eola, grinning back. “Get me off this damn mountain and I'll like you even more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Dovah! I hope I got it right, I'm no expert which is why I had Paarthurnax using it less than he does in game.
> 
> Most is either used in game or explained in the story but the bits that I had to essentially guess at are:
> 
> Kriid-Huzrah - literally Slayer (who) hearkens, ie. Listener.
> 
> Vul Zeymahhe - Dark Brothers or Dark Brotherhood.
> 
> Zii-Zah-Ro - literally spirit-finite-balance. I laughed so hard when I found that out. Nominative determinism FTW!


	18. Breaching Security

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brotherhood reassemble, only to be sent out on their own separate adventures. Delphine is escorting Eola to help get Meridia's Beacon back home, Calixto and Sapphire are off to take out Gaius Maro and Aranea gets the unfortunate job of escorting Cicero to the College of Winterhold to find out about Elder Scrolls. However, before that they need to collect the pay from Astrid for the Stone-Fist job, bringing back a few old memories for Aranea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got to bring in Lucien Lachance! Hurrah! I hope I've done him justice - I'm not terribly familiar with Oblivion and all my knowledge comes from the wiki.
> 
> Warnings for a bit of not-too-detailed BDSM and spanking, but don't feel too sorry for Cicero, it's entirely his own fault.

Delphine surveyed the reassembled Brotherhood, all back from their various missions. Good to see them again, but something was a little off about them all. Cicero had been bouncy, affectionate, glorying in his new-found ability to breathe fire courtesy of the Greybeards (why Arngeir had taken it into his head to teach Cicero that, Delphine couldn't even begin to fathom) and now had a few new items added to the list of Things Cicero is Not Allowed To Do. Eola on the other hand looked stressed, frazzled and had developed a worrying habit of shouting at thin air. Delphine knew Cicero could be trying, but even he couldn't have had that effect, surely?

 

Of the other three, Calixto seemed calm enough but kept shooting odd looks at Aranea, who appeared impassive on the surface but seemed to shiver every time he spoke to her. Meanwhile Sapphire was ignoring both of them, and was it Delphine's imagination or did she look a bit guilty?

 

Delphine really didn't have time to give it all too much attention. They'd have to sort it out themselves. Right now, they were all gathered at the big table, Esbern joining them to offer advice on matters Dragonborn, and Aventus playing at the other end of the table, there mostly because he was insatiably curious about everything. Fast learner too – Delphine had been training him a little in basic archery and swordplay, and once she'd cured him of novice tendencies to show off by kicking his arse a few time, he'd knuckled down to learn surprisingly quickly.

 

“So what do you all have for me?” she asked. “Calixto, how did things go in Markarth? Did you get what we wanted from Virane?”

 

“Yes, he was delicio- er, here Listener,” he said awkwardly, pushing a folded piece of paper over to her. “The name and location of our quarry. And you need have no fear of Virane warning anyone. He's quite dead.”

 

“Are you one of Namira's faithful now?” Eola teased. Calixto shrugged.

 

“It's not a lifestyle I plan on embracing, on the other hand, I can't say I regret it as much as I probably should. Charming friends you have there, dear.”

 

Delphine scanned the letter. _Balagog gro-Nolob, Nightgate Inn_. An Orc. Surprising. She'd never have thought an Orc would be interested in fine cuisine, but it took all sorts.

 

“Excellent,” she smiled, pushing five hundred septims Calixto's way. “Very useful, well done. Now Sapphire, how did your business go?”

 

“Rolff Stone-Fist's dead,” said Sapphire, blushing slightly. “By my hand, on the streets of Windhelm, as instructed. Several witnesses, including the town gossip. Astrid should be pleased. Er, Delphine, if it's alright with you, can someone else go and collect the pay off her? I'm not sure I really want to meet Astrid on my own. They can even keep the bonus if they like, I'll just take the gold.”

 

“No problem, I'll send someone,” Delphine promised. “I've got a letter for her anyway – seems high-profile murders have a way of generating business. Several smaller contracts have come in, and given our current projects, I've no capacity to deal with them. So Astrid will have to sort them out. I'm sure she'll be very pleased.”

 

Next to her, Esbern looked very uncomfortable. “Do I really need to be here for this?” he asked, frowning.

 

“It's alright, just this next bit,” Delphine promised. “So Cicero. You learnt how to breathe fire, that's good. But did you get anywhere with this other Shout?”

 

“Not as far as we'd have liked, Listener,” said Cicero apologetically. “The Shout is called Dragonrend, and it was invented by mortals as a way of fighting back against dragons. The Greybeards didn't really want to talk about it, but Cicero was... persuasive.”

 

“Did you kill 'em?” Aventus asked hopefully. Cicero shook his head, actually smiling at the boy.

 

“No child, that proved not to be necessary this time. Another time, maybe.”

 

“He whined, pleaded and generally made himself as annoying as humanly possible until they gave in,” said Eola, part admiring, part frazzled. Delphine laughed. She could well believe this.

 

“So what did you learn?” she asked.

 

“They don't know the words of the Shout,” said Cicero, disappointed. “But they know how he might find out. Cicero needs to obtain an Elder Scroll, take it to the top of the Throat of the World and read it, and it should show him Alduin's original banishment from time, including the Dragonrend Shout being used.”

 

“An Elder Scroll??” Delphine demanded. “Where are we supposed to find one of those???” Delphine considered herself to be fairly resourceful and her information-gathering network was considerable, but even she wouldn't even know where to start looking. Cyrodiil maybe? Did the Synod have one? And even if they did, stealing it would be on a par with assassinating the Emperor. Well. She did have a gift for acquiring impossible tasks, didn't she? “Esbern, any ideas?”

 

“No,” said Esbern, amazed himself. “But the College of Winterhold might know. Quite how you're going to get Cicero in there of course, I have no idea.”

 

“Eola thinks she might know someone who used to be at the College of Winterhold.” said Cicero. “Of course, my dear sister can no longer go there herself, so it looks like Cicero will have to pretend to be an apprentice mage and go on his own, won't he sister?”

 

“Namira's leavings, please shut up and leave me alone!” Eola sobbed, turning furiously on her backpack. She looked up to see the entire table staring at her and promptly burst into tears.

 

“I'm sorry,” she wept. “I'm so sorry. It just keeps nagging at me, constantly, I can't even sleep any more and I... just... can't...” She folded her arms and laid her head on the table, sobbing her heart out.

 

“Cicero,” said Delphine, narrowing her eyes at him. “What did you do?”

 

“I did nothing!” Cicero protested, rubbing Eola's back in a futile attempt to comfort her. “Cicero is innocent! Cicero is... er...” Next thing Delphine knew, Cicero had prostrated himself at Delphine's feet, clinging to her lower legs and howling.

 

“Cicero is sorry, sweet Delphine!” he wailed. “Cicero disobeyed you! Cicero ran away from Eola into an ancient Nord ruin and Eola had to chase after him to fetch him back. Then Cicero and Eola found this ancient sphere and when Eola touched it, it started talking to her. It wants to go back to Kilkreath and won't take no for an answer. Cicero begs Delphine not to be angry with Eola, it is all Cicero's fault.”

 

That Delphine could entirely believe. She knew he'd been hiding something. He'd been too energetic and lively, as if he'd been trying to distract her. This must have been the secret.

 

“Cicero, Cicero, Cicero,” Delphine said, her voice low and dangerous. “What am I going to do with you?”

 

“Cicero is sorry, sweetest, most lovely and beautiful Listener,” Cicero whimpered. “He is at your mercy. He begs you not to be too cruel to him.”

 

“You're not going to hurt him, are you?” Aventus cried. “But he found out about the Shout and everything!” To his surprise, both Cicero and Delphine turned to look at him, both looking more than a little exasperated.

 

“I won't damage him,” said Delphine. “But he did go against a direct order and so I'll need to do something about that. Cicero, go. Wait for me in our bedroom. I'll speak with you there. Make sure you're in a suitably penitent frame of mind.”

 

“My Listener is too merciful,” Cicero gasped, getting to his feet and practically sprinting out of the room.

 

“Sometimes, I think he might be right,” said Delphine dryly, watching him go. “Eola, I trust we have all learnt a valuable lesson about poking strange things in old ruins when you don't know what they are?”

 

Eola nodded miserably. “Yeah, no worries. Next time Cicero decides to randomly explore an old ruin, he's on his own.”

 

“Indeed,” said Delphine, just glad it had been Eola to end up with the voice in her head, not Cicero. She didn't think Cicero would have coped with it anything like as well. “So show me this sphere.”

 

Eola dug into her pack and placed it on the table for all to see. It gleamed in the candlelight, reflecting it back, little golden reflections all over the room. It truly looked lovely. Delphine didn't trust it.

 

Calixto pointedly grabbed Aventus' wrist and hauled his hand away from the sphere. “Leave it, boy. That's a Daedric artefact. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, it's Meridia's beacon. Eola dear, you have the Daedric Prince of Life in your head.”

 

“There's irony for you,” Esbern sighed. “Delphine, it can't stay here, surely.”

 

“Kilkreath,” Eola gasped, rocking quietly in her seat, eyes glazing. “It has to go back to Kilkreath. Right away. Sithis, make it stop!”

 

“I know where Kilkreath is,” said Delphine, reaching across to take Eola's wrist, to try and calm her down. “All right, we'll go there tomorrow. You and me. I could do with an adventure. Tell Meridia that.”

 

Eola smiled through her tears. “She says it's about time and she's glad someone seems to know what they're doing. Oh, and to see that we do it.”

 

“I've said we will, didn't I?” said Delphine with a smile, fully sympathising on the having a disembodied female voice in her head telling her what to do part. She was just thankful that the Night Mother was less imperious than Meridia seemed. “Now put the beacon away. Esbern, you should probably head off for this next bit. I've got some... other business to transact.”

 

“You're handing out contracts!” Aventus cried. “Who are you going to kill? Anyone important?”

 

“Esbern. Take the boy with you,” Delphine sighed. Really, these things could be trying enough with Cicero behaving like a child, she could do without having actual children witnessing

 

“It's not fair,” Aventus sulked. “I never get to hear the interesting bits.” Still, he trailed off after Esbern, leaving Delphine with the others.

 

“Are we going after the Gourmet then?” Calixto asked, rubbing his hands. Delphine shook her head.

 

“Eventually. But not yet. Before that, we have another target. So, Eola, you and me will be heading to Kilkreath. Cicero will be leaving for Winterhold, and as he's not going to make a convincing apprentice mage and I really can't face letting him head off on his own to terrorise the place, Aranea, you'll be going with him. Pose as an aspiring student of magic, tell anyone who asks that Cicero is your bodyguard. Eola, who is this contact at Winterhold Cicero mentioned?”

 

“He's not at Winterhold any more,” said Eola. “He's called Septimus, he's a renowned Elder Scrolls scholar but no one knows where he is. But he was friends with Urag gro-Shub, the Winterhold librarian. You'll need to ask him, he might know where to find him.”

 

“That's not a lot to go on,” said Aranea, quietly dreading this whole enterprise, in particular the prospect of trying to keep Cicero from doing anything... unfortunate.

 

“No, but it's something,” Delphine sighed. “Find out what you can, any lead's worth chasing up. Also, on the way, call in at Falkreath, collect our pay and deliver this letter for Astrid. It's got details of our contracts for her. Bonus is yours or Cicero's, whichever of you wants it more and can get most out of it, the fee comes back here for Sapphire.”

 

“Understood, Listener,” said Aranea, pocketing the letter. “Is there anything else?”

 

“Not for you and Eola,” said Delphine. “You're both dismissed, get some rest. Especially you, Eola, you look like you need it.”

 

Eola looked ready to cry again, with relief this time, as she followed Aranea out, Delphine left alone with Calixto and Sapphire.

 

“You've got something for us then, I take it,” said Sapphire.

 

“I have. And it's an important one. One I can't give you a lot of background on.”

 

“In case we get caught,” Calixto finished. “I see. What are we doing?”

 

“You're after Gaius Maro, son of Skyrim's Penitus Oculatus commander. The Emperor's paying Skyrim a visit, trying to resolve tensions after some terrible, terrible people murdered his cousin.” Delphine paused, sharing a grin with both of them. Some part of her vaguely recalled a time when she'd have been horrified to be a part of this. Now she just wanted the job done.

 

“That's going to make us some enemies,” said Sapphire. “Also, they're based in Dragon Bridge, Haafingar. Cal and I have bounties there!”

 

“Oh, you're not going to Dragon Bridge,” said Delphine, smiling. “Turns out Gaius is going on a little tour of Skyrim, visiting the major hold capitals to check the security situations there. I was there a few days ago myself, watching him leave. And oh look, this just happened to fall into my pocket.” She passed another piece of paper to them. Both read it and looked up, identical grins in place.

 

“You stole the schedule,” Sapphire grinned. “Impressive.”

 

“Oh not really,” said Delphine dismissively. “They'd just left it lying around on a table in an unlocked room for anyone to lift. Point is, this is where he's going to be on what days. Now this is where your, er, unique talents come in. Our client has very specific requirements for this kill. First, you can't kill him on the road. It must be done in one of the cities. Obviously you can't do it in Solitude, but any other city is fine by me. The body needs to be found quickly. Also, you'll need to plant this on him. Either after he's dead or slip it into his pocket without him realising and then kill him.” She slid an envelope over to Sapphire.

 

“What's in this?” Sapphire asked, curious.

 

“Evidence implicating him in a Stormcloak plot to kill the Emperor,” said Delphine. Calixto and Sapphire had gone absolutely still.

 

“Delphine,” said Calixto. “This isn't just about Maro, is it? There's a far bigger picture to this, isn't there?”

 

“Vici,” Sapphire breathed. “This is linked to Vici, has to be, first the Emperor shows up because of that, now we're nobbling his security force. Delphine, what is this all leading up to??”

 

“Less you know, the better,” said Delphine, her face closing up, devoid of all emotion. “Kill Maro, plant that on him, make sure it's done in a hold city then get yourselves back here without getting caught. That's all you need to worry about. Am I quite clear on this?”

 

“Perfectly, Delphine.”

 

“Yes, Listener.”

 

“Good. Then I'll wish you both goodnight and good luck.” Delphine got to her feet and strode out. Cicero was waiting for her, with any luck naked and on his knees, and all this talk of murder had got her adrenaline going. No gentle caresses or words of love tonight. Cicero had been a very bad boy, and bad boys needed punishing.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Cicero skipped along the road, cheerfully following Aranea through the Falkreath pine forest. He liked this armour, he really did. Fitted him nicely, slid easily over his skin without chafing, and given the state his backside was in, that was all for the best. Aching and bruised flesh caressed by soft leather and that soft lining – he couldn't have wished for better. Sore, yes, but worth it. Delphine had been ruthless, and he'd played his part to the full, the penitent sobbing and pleading servant. Well. Maybe play-acting wasn't right – it wasn't like he wasn't inclined that way and his feelings for Delphine were genuine enough. The pain had also been real, as had the tears. Strange, shackle him to a wall or pin him down over a table and abuse him for pleasure, and he could take any amount of ill-treatment and even beg for more, but being bent over her knee for punishment made him howl like anyone. He hated having Delphine angry with him, but it had been very very necessary. He was hopeless at hiding his feelings and knew Delphine could tell he was hiding something. So he'd confessed to the small sin to hide the bigger one. Amazingly, it had actually worked.

 

She'd held him in her arms after, stroking his hair and letting the tears fall on her shoulder as he sniffled quietly, asking if he was alright and telling him he needed to be good in future, not give his sisters such trouble, didn't he see the state poor Eola was in? She hoped he was feeling properly chastised. He'd nodded tearfully and promised to be better behaved in future, and that Delphine was such a good mistress, such a kind Listener for taking such an interest in humble Cicero's moral development. All the while he'd wanted to scream _no, look at me, I'm still hiding things from you, I'm protecting a dragon, can't you tell?? Punish me harder, hurt me more, I deserve it, I'm lying to you, I'm sorry..._

 

But she'd noticed nothing. Preoccupied maybe. She'd just smiled, stroked his hair, kissed the top of his head and told him that as he'd taken his punishment so well, he could have the privilege of adoring her physically. He'd whispered he didn't deserve such an honour, but he'd done as asked, crawling between his Listener's thighs to lavish her with kisses, eager tongue and fingers bringing her off with very little difficulty. Worthless, lying, deceiving Cicero did not deserve to be allowed such a privilege, but his Listener surely deserved to have someone adore and worship her and he was who she'd chosen. He'd do his best by her. Always.

 

This currently meant skipping along behind Aranea, whistling to himself. He'd been good, very good, polite, helpful, taking care of beasts and other roadside hazards, including the dragon at the foot of the hill leading up to Lake Ilinalta. No distractions, no running off, nothing. He was rather pleased with himself.

 

“Cicero, is everything all right?” Aranea asked, one eyebrow raised. “You've been, well, very quiet all day. Should I be worried?”

 

“Oh no,” said Cicero cheerfully. “Dear sister Aranea should spare no worries for humble Cicero. He's quite well.”

 

“Ah,” said Aranea, nodding in understanding. “You are repressing the mischief for when we get to Falkreath. I see.”

 

“No!” Cicero protested, feeling a little hurt that whenever he did his best to be good, everyone always assumed he was up to something. It was most galling. “Cicero promised Delphine he would be on his best behaviour, and so he is. Cicero would not want another of his sisters possessed by a Daedra Lord, no.”

 

“If Azura sent me more visions, I wouldn't complain,” said Aranea wistfully. “But I suppose it's not to be. One doesn't command the Daedra. I can only hope the dear Guardian is managing.”

 

“Cicero feels for his dear sister Eola,” said Cicero, managing to sound entirely sincere, surprising even him. “All the same, he wishes the dear Listener had not insisted on going with her. He worries, he does!”

 

“They'll be fine,” said Aranea, patting him on the shoulder. “It's just a matter of taking the thing home to Meridia's shrine. Now they're on the way, the worst is surely over.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Delphine hadn't really travelled with Eola before, not just the two of them without Cicero. It was something of an eye-opener, especially once they left the Reach. Eola was strutting in her Forsworn gear, utterly unashamed of the fact it concealed virtually nothing, claiming it boosted her magical abilities no end.

 

“Each to their own,” Delphine had replied. “Not sure it'd suit anyone my age though.”

 

“Forsworn are lucky if they get to your age,” Eola had said, bitterness tainting her words. Delphine could only feel sorry for her, if she thought joining the Dark Brotherhood would extend her life expectancy.

 

“Way Cicero tells it, there aren't many old assassins either,” said Delphine. “And that was before the War and its aftermath.”

 

“Yeah, but the ride'll be _fantastic!_ ” Eola had enthused. “I mean, look at us. We're on fire! We break into high-security embassies, out of high-security prisons, we kill in the streets and get away with it. We're the damn Dark Brotherhood! So what if I die young in the process? This is so much better than anything the Forsworn could have offered. It's even more interesting than my coven. I'm really liking it. Thank you, Listener. Thanks for having me.”

 

“You're welcome,” Delphine had replied, a little thrown by the attention and the gratitude, but pleased nonetheless. Not every day she had attractive young people complimenting her, after all. Well, not people who weren't Cicero, anyway. Not that she was tired of Cicero, of course not. It was just nice to have someone else be attentive to her for a change.

 

Eola nodded up ahead to where a fort seemed to span the road.

 

“Ambush, you reckon?”

 

“Bandit camp,” Delphine confirmed. “Didn't take it on last time, didn't fancy it on my own, so snuck past. Why, you want to?”

 

“Sure do,” Eola grinned, all predator all of a sudden. “I'm _hungry_.”

 

They'd proceeded to take the camp apart, Eola's magic and summonations destroying bandits while Delphine's katana sliced through flesh and sent heads reeling. All in all, things were going quite well until the bandit chief joined the fight, heavily armoured like Delphine and with a greatsword that even she had trouble blocking, her Blades shield taking the brunt but not likely to hold up for long.

 

Then Eola was there, dual-casting frost magic at the bandit, twin streams of ice freezing up her armour and slowing her down. Delphine took very precise aim at the seams in the armour, one thrust nearly taking the bandit chief's right arm off and the next to the throat finishing her off.

 

“Are you alright?” Eola asked, worried.

 

“I could say the same about you,” said Delphine, kneeling down to catch her breath and clean her blade. “How'd you get through all this without a mark on you??”

 

“They never got close enough,” Eola grinned. She helped Delphine to her feet, looking her over and glancing at the trail of bodies behind her. “That's some damn impressive work there. I saw you fighting, you know. You're _good._ I mean, really good. I mean, almost Cicero good.”

 

“You're exaggerating,” said Delphine, sheathing her katana, using the gesture to hide the blush she was fairly certain now stained her cheeks. “I've seen him fight too, you know.”

 

“Yeah, but he's a psychopath,” Eola pointed out. “You on the other hand can do all that and you're sane! It's like a bonus! Lethality without, you know, the singing or the dancing or the total fucking lunacy.”

 

“Keep on like this, and I'll start to think you're after something,” said Delphine, unable to repress a grin.

 

“Not at all, Listener,” said Eola, lowering both eyes and voice, retreating behind formality. A little odd, but Delphine thought nothing of it.

 

“All right, I'm going to search the place, see if they've got anything worth stealing. I believe this is the part where you start stripping the bodies?”

 

Eola's face lit up at that. “I believe so. I'll meet you on the road when you're done.”

 

Delphine had left her to her grisly endeavours and gone on to uncover quite the treasure trove. Shiny new Elven bow and some glass arrows to go with it, an ebony helmet – didn't entirely match her Blades gear but who cared, ebony! Oh, and septims. Many, many septims, and assorted gems and jewellery. That would balance the books no end.

 

Eola had been waiting, licking her fingers and wiping the blood from her mouth, reminding Delphine of a humanoid sabre cat, or indeed a few Khajiit she'd known.

 

“Are we ready, Listener?” she'd asked, that predator's gaze turning for just a few seconds on her before dropping to the floor. Delphine repressed a shiver and just nodded.

 

“We're good. Here, soul gems and magicka potions – found them in the chest. You'll get more out of them than me.”

 

Eola took them off her, fingers lingering just a second too long on Delphine's hands as she did so, and those hunter's eyes flicking back to Delphine's face for the merest second.

 

“For me, Delphine? You shouldn't have.”

 

“Why not? They're just going to go to waste otherwise,” said Delphine, honestly wondering what on Nirn was up with Eola. “Take them and let's go. Mustn't keep Meridia waiting, must we?”

 

“Straight to the point. I like that,” Eola laughed, following behind. “Honestly, after travelling with Cicero, you're like a breath of fresh air. No distractions, no teasing, no messing around, no practical jokes or 'Eola, look at this, I'm going to do a forward roll and whirlwind sprint at the same time!' Although admittedly he only did that once after he gave himself a concussion doing it...”

 

Delphine winced at the mere thought. “And here was me thinking you'd be bored.”

 

Eola shook her head. “You're not going to pick me up, use the Become Ethereal Shout and leap off the Throat of the World. For that alone, I am thankful.”

 

“He didn't!” Delphine gasped, alternately horrified and very impressed.

 

“He did,” Eola sighed. “And once we were on the ground again and I'd stopped screaming and gibbering and uncurled myself from the fetal position, do you know what he said? 'But sweet Eola wanted to get off the mountain quickly! Cicero has saved us many miles of walking!' I screamed at him that I could have been killed if he'd dropped me or if that become ethereal Shout hadn't turned me ethereal too. He told me not to worry, he'd done experiments. Experiments!!! Sweet Namira, Delphine, I'm sorry but your boyfriend nearly got punched.”

 

“Oh Talos,” said Delphine, putting an arm around the other woman's shoulder. “Eola, I am so very sorry. I had no idea he was quite that unstable. Giving you a break is probably for the best, eh?”

 

“You got that right,” said Eola softly, resting a head against Delphine's shoulder, arm around her waist. “I mean, I love the guy to pieces and all, but Sithis, I'm so glad 'Nea gets the fun this time.”

 

There wasn't a lot Delphine could rightly say to that, other than to feel a bit sorry for Aranea. She just hope the level-headed Dunmer mage could curb Cicero's tendency to go looking for trouble. She really didn't want to have two burnt-out Dark Brotherhood assassins clinging on to her for comfort. Having said that, it wasn't too horrible having Eola on her arm. A bit weird, but oddly comforting. Arm in arm, they made their way onwards. Kilkreath awaited.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Astrid raised an eyebrow as Aranea and Cicero walked in to the Sanctuary. She was leaning up against the wall in the front hallway, seemingly lost in thought, at least up until she noticed her two new siblings walk in. Detaching herself from the wall, she stepped towards them, arms folded.

 

“Sapphire too afraid to show her face, I take it,” said Astrid. “I must admit, I hadn't expected you, Aranea. I'd expected young Eola, maybe. You on the other hand, Dragonborn, I'm not at all surprised to see. Did she think I'd stab you in the back if one of you came alone?”

 

“We're just here for our pay,” said Aranea, ignoring the bait and a gentle touch on Cicero ensuring he did likewise. “Cicero and I have a job to do after we leave here, that's why he's with me. Also Delphine has some contracts for you. Here.”

 

Astrid took the letter, scanning its contents.

 

“Seven contracts?? How does Delphine expect me to find time for all these, hmm?”

 

“I'm sure most of them are fairly straightforward jobs,” said Aranea. “Think of the coin. And talking of coin...”

 

“Of course,” said Astrid. “Wait here.” She retreated into her bedroom and returned with a casket containing the full eight hundred septims, as promised. Aranea took charge of the gold, looking expectantly at Astrid.

 

“There was a bonus too, I believe. We had a Nord do the killing, as requested.”

 

“I know,” said Astrid. “I had my own eyes on Windhelm, and everyone is talking about the Nord who stood up for the Dunmer. I'm impressed. The Dunmer are walking around a little taller than they used to. Well done. This bonus though – it's not transferable. I can give it to one person and only one. It's a little gift of the Brotherhood, a little... unholy assistance.”

 

Cicero perked up, putting the Illusion tome he'd been reading down and scampering over to where the women had been talking.

 

“A gift? What manner of gift? Cicero likes gifts! Especially... dark ones.”

 

“It's a spell of sorts. A Summonation, although you don't need to be a summoner to wield it. It bonds the recipient to the shade of one of our greatest assassins, letting you summon him to your side. Can only be used once a day, but once he's summoned, there's no time limit on his stay. He'll remain until he's defeated.”

 

“Interesting,” said Aranea thoughtfully. “A Dark Brotherhood Conjuration spell. I'd heard rumours such a thing was possible but not seen it wielded. Of course, I can already summon all manner of things if I want to. May I ask who the assassin is?”

 

“He lived and died during the Oblivion Crisis,” said Astrid. “He was one of our Speakers. Lucien Lachance.”

 

Now that was an impressive name indeed. Aranea knew that name well. So did Cicero, if the sudden dancing and squealing was any indication.

 

“Lucien Lachance!” Cicero cried, capering on the spot. “Cicero has heard of him! Cicero heard many tales of the great Lachance while he was a young assassin. Cicero read everything about him, had a portrait on his wall. He was Cicero's hero!” Cicero sighed happily, clutching at his chest, eyes misty. “To be bonded to him in the Void! Aranea, we are privileged indeed!”

 

“We?” said Astrid, smirking. “Cicero, I can only give this to one of you. You had better decide which of you wants it more. Quickly now! I don't have all night.”

 

Aranea looked at Cicero, hoping that Cicero's hero-worship of Lucien wouldn't lead him to do anything rash. Mercifully, all he was doing was staring up at her hopefully, dark eyes wide, eyelids fluttering and head tilted as he smiled up at her. Aranea imagined some people might find this cute, although it wasn't doing a lot for her. Still, it wasn't like she couldn't already summon things. Not to mention she'd spent enough time bonded to Lucien while he was alive, while he'd visited Morrowind on various contracts. It had been quite the exciting fling, but ultimately short-lived. She'd told him Bellamont was trouble. He'd just laughed and asked what Azura could possibly know about the Dark Brotherhood's people. Things had cooled considerably after that, and Aranea had not seen Lucien again. Ten years later, at the height of the Oblivion Crisis, he'd been murdered. Aranea had mourned, but had also been of the opinion it was his own damn fault in many ways. While having him bound to her will so she could cheerfully say 'I told you so' to her heart's content did appeal, ultimately the novelty was likely to fade fairly quickly.

 

“He's all yours, Cicero,” Aranea told him. She was rewarded with an ecstatic shriek and Cicero leaping on her, squeezing her tightly.

 

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you!” he cried. “Cicero will never forget dear Aranea's generosity to her humble brother, never!” He let her go, skipping towards Astrid, grinning dementedly and holding out his hand.

 

“I might have known it would be you,” said Astrid, rolling her eyes. She took Cicero's outstretched hand in both of hers and concentrated. Cold grey light blazed from them and Cicero gasped as if in pain. The same light glowed in his eyes and then it was gone, Astrid letting him go. Cicero flexed his fingers, staring at his hand in wonder.

 

“Sister,” he whispered. “Sister, I feel... different. Darkness in my very soul. I can _feel_ the Void.”

 

“It does feel a little like that, yes,” said Astrid, smile playing at her lips. “Are you two staying with us tonight? Veezara and Festus are both out on jobs, you're welcome to have their beds.”

 

“I'll take you up on that offer,” said Aranea, stifling a yawn. “Come on, Cicero, let's find some food and put our feet up. We've got a long journey tomorrow.”

 

Cicero was still staring at his hand. “May Cicero... try it out?”

 

Aranea winced, but Astrid had already nodded in permission, and Cicero had thrust out with his hand, the summoning taking effect. Darkness flowed out and coalesced into the form of a man in Shrouded Robes.

 

“I live... again,” Lucien sighed, shaking his shoulders back. “Who has summoned me?” He looked up, eyes falling straight on Aranea. “Ah. We meet again, Madam Ienith.”

 

“Signor Lachance,” said Aranea, unable to repress a grin. “You're looking well.”

 

Lucien laughed once. “For a dead man, yes, I suppose I am. Aranea. You were right. I was wrong, and I paid for my hubris, paid dearly as did many others. Forgive me.”

 

“I suppose I can,” said Aranea, feeling warmer towards him than she'd done in a long time and almost wishing she'd claimed for herself. Almost. “But it's not me who summoned you. Look behind you.”

 

Cicero had his hands clasped together in front of his face and Aranea wasn't entirely sure he'd blinked once since summoning Lucien. The spirit in question turned around to face Cicero, staring in disbelief.

 

“You. Summoned me.”

 

Cicero nodded, delighted. “Yes, yes, I did! Cicero Dovahkiin, Keeper of the Night Mother and her Listener, at your service, oh great and mighty Lucien Lachance. It is an honour to stand before you, sir. Cicero has long been an admirer of your work.”

 

Lucien relaxed a little, even smiling. “Ah, so you are the Keeper I've been hearing so much about. Mother speaks highly of you.” He traced a finger down Cicero's cheek, causing the jester to shiver. “Yes, you have sent many souls to the Void in your time. You're strong. It shall be an honour to assist you... Keeper.”

 

Cicero squealed for joy on hearing this. Beckoning Lucien after him, he darted into the Sanctuary, all the while gabbling to the spectre about various notable kills Lucien had carried out over the years. Aranea waved goodbye, trying not to grin too much as Lucien shot her a rather worried glance over his shoulder.

 

“Did I hear that right? You knew him in life?” Astrid asked.

 

“Intimately,” Aranea murmured. “A talented man in many ways.”

 

Astrid's eyes widened, delight writ large all over her face... delight and a fair hint of envy. “I don't doubt it!” she laughed. “Aranea Ienith, you saucy little vixen. Tell me everything.”

 

So Aranea did, and the cackling did not stop until quite late into the night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Hey there, sweetheart. What's a nice boy like you doing all on your own?”

 

Gaius Maro looked up, straight into a low-cut dress with plenty on show. With an effort, he drew his eyes to its wearer's face. Pale skin, dark hair, cold blue eyes and typical Nord features, she was pretty but there was a hardness to her face despite the smile. Clearly down on her luck and resorting to selling all she had left.

 

“I have someone waiting for me back home,” he told her politely. The woman didn't take the hint, edging closer, brushing up against him.

 

“Oh, she doesn't have to know,” she breathed into his ear. “The two of us could slip away, drink a little mead, get to know each other a little better. No one's business but ours. What do you say, hmm?”

 

“I think you should leave,” Gaius said tersely, shoving her away. He wasn't interested, couldn't she tell?? In fact, he could feel anger rising inside him. Most uncharacteristic, but he didn't think to question it.

 

“Fine,” the woman glared, smile and friendly mood evaporating. “Should have realised you preferred men. You look like the type.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Gaius snarled, unaware of the little bottle now in his pocket, leaking its contents on to his skin. He was equally unaware of the papers now sitting in his other pocket.

 

“You're weak, Imperial,” the woman sneered. “Weak, effeminate, probably can't keep it up unless you're being pinned down by a big, burly Nord man.”

 

Gaius drew his dagger, the drug she'd given him dulling his mind and setting his emotions raging. Roaring an obscenity at her, he lunged forward. The woman leapt back, but he was faster and a second later she was on the floor, bleeding. For the briefest of seconds, Gaius savoured the triumph. Then as the drug wore off and sanity returned, he felt guilt and horror sink in... and then the older Imperial who'd been quietly sipping his ale on the other side of him drew his own dagger across Gaius's throat and Gaius Maro knew nothing more.

 

Calixto let Gaius's body collapse to the ground and his dagger fall, rushing to where Sapphire was lying on the floor of the Silver-Blood Inn, blood pouring out of the chest wound Gaius had dealt her.

 

“Cal,” she whispered. “Don't leave me.” Around them, the inn had erupted in screaming, someone screaming for the guards, someone else asking if there was a healer in the house.

 

“You're not going anywhere,” said Calixto, squeezing her hand and reaching for a healing potion. “Stay with me. Look in my eyes. Stay with me.” He poured the entire contents over the wound and laid hands on her.

 

“Hurts,” Sapphire gasped, tears in her eyes. “Hurts so much. Cal, please. Make it stop.”

 

“I will, I promise. Just don't die on me.” Concentrating, he let healing magic flow through him and into her, a legacy of his necromancy days as he felt flesh knit back together. Easier than it had ever been trying to get two different women's body parts to unite. Sapphire's body lived and wanted to live, wanted to be whole again and it was so easy to just give it the power and direction it needed.

 

“Cal,” Sapphire gasped, still struggling for breath. “Cal, I – I slept with Aranea. I'm sorry.”

 

“I guessed that,” said Calixto, producing a second healing potion, lifting it to her lips. “Can't say I blame you. Don't fret, if I were truly angry I wouldn't be pouring healing potions down your throat, would I?”

 

“She likes you,” Sapphire whispered, feeling the pain fading as the potions kicked in. “She's just nervous.”

 

_She saw me butcher an innocent woman and try to use her body parts in a depraved flesh magic ritual. That would make anyone nervous. On the other hand, at least she's seen me at my worst._

 

“Later,” said Calixto firmly. “You've lost a lot of blood. Stop talking.”

 

“Sir, did you have anything to do with this?” a guard asked, standing over them both.

 

“He went mad and decided to assault this young lady,” said Calixto. “Does anyone have a dressing for this wound? Ah thank you, my dear.” He took the offered bandages off Hroki and began to bind up Sapphire's torso. The wound was mostly closed now, but he didn't want to take the risk of it re-opening before they got back to Karthspire.

 

“It's true,” old Kleppr the bartender put in. “Seemed like a nice young man until he pulled his knife out. She'd be dead by now if this gentleman hadn't dealt with him and started healing her.”

 

“He was so brave,” Frabbi, Kleppr's wife sighed. “Didn't even blink, just went for him and taught him a lesson about attacking innocent young women.”

 

_Oh if only you knew._ Calixto could teach many lessons on that very subject. “You're very kind, madam,” was all he said. “Just doing my civic duty.”

 

Another guard had been going through Maro's pockets. The by now empty poison bottle was disregarded, but the letter was another story.

 

“By the Eight,” the guard cried. “Have you seen this letter? The man was plotting to kill the Emperor!”

 

If the inn hadn't been in enough chaos before, it certainly was now. Everyone began talking at once and the guards were hard-pressed to call for quiet.

 

“If that's all, might I be on my way?” Calixto asked. “This girl's still weak, I should really see her home.”

 

Sapphire nodded wearily, not needing to feign anything. “It's a farm outside the city, if you hire a carriage for us, I can pay you when we get there. You saved my life, my Family will be so pleased.”

 

The guards waved him on, far more interested in a dead traitor than the brawl that had killed him. Calixto picked Sapphire up and carried her outside.

 

“Thanks,” she whispered. “For... you know.”

 

“For what? Doing my job? Saving your life? Or not gutting you in a jealous rage?”

 

“All three?” said Sapphire, closing her eyes. Calixto just smiled.

 

“You say Aranea's still interested in me. And that doesn't bother you?”

 

“Not really. Mama always told me I should share with my siblings,” Sapphire yawned. “And after tonight, well, I guess I owe you, don't I? If she says yes, I don't mind sharing.”

 

“We'll see. When she gets home, we'll talk. Assuming all goes well and she and Cicero haven't killed each other.”

 

“He wouldn't hurt her,” said Sapphire sleepily. “She might set him on fire if he annoys her enough though.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

So far, Aranea had yet to kill Cicero, or even injure him. At the moment, she was having far too much fun watching him and Lucien together. Cicero had been walking alongside the ghostly assassin all day, talking non-stop about their group, who was who, the adventures they'd all had, everything, including being Dragonborn. Lucien hadn't really been able to get much of a word in edgeways other than to ask the odd question, but he did occasionally glance her way, silently pleading for mercy. Aranea had just smiled back and done absolutely nothing. Whatever Cicero's faults, he'd always been perfectly respectful of Lady Azura, and while his sense of mischief knew no limits, he'd never been dismissive of her opinions. Unlike some.

 

Now they were ensconced in Hjerim for the night, in preparation for the journey to Winterhold in the morning. Aranea had opted for the single room upstairs, leaving the double bed to Cicero and his new friend Lucien. She'd still been able to hear Cicero's excited chattering and squealing from across the hall, but things seemed to have calmed down over there now. There'd been silence for the past half-hour. Curious, she pulled a robe around her and crept to the bedroom door, peering inside. It was dark, but that was no barrier to a Dunmer, and Lucien glowed with a faint light anyway. To her surprise, he was lying back on the bed, one arm around a sleeping Cicero who was cuddled up next to the ghost. Lucien placed a finger to his lips and beckoned her forward. Aranea moved silently to the bed, sitting down on the end of it.

 

“If you wished to punish me for insulting Azura, you have managed it,” Lucien whispered. “At the same time, I can't deny he's talented. Also, when he's like this, it's quite nice.”

 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” said Aranea. “He's not often quiet.”

 

“No,” said Lucien softly. “They told me the years alone had damaged him, the fate of the Night Mother weighing heavily on his shoulders. Still didn't prepare me for this.”

 

“He's part brutal killer, part hyperactive child,” said Aranea, surprised to see Cicero's face still and relaxed for once, all the hard edges softening and the mania wiped clean to leave just a man, no more and no less. She could almost begin to see what Delphine saw in him. “He's a fascinating man to watch... from a safe distance.”

 

“You and I don't have that luxury,” said Lucien dryly. “All the same, I've worked with worse. His loyalty's not in doubt, at least.”

 

“No,” said Aranea. “He's truly devoted to Delphine and the Night Mother. The Brotherhood's his life.”

 

“I can tell,” said Lucien, his face softening. “He said he was lonely, missed his Listener. I don't need to sleep, but he asked if I'd stay nearby while he did. I asked him what he feared was likely to happen to him here. He said he didn't like sleeping alone any more.”

 

“I don't think he's even been alone for long since he met Delphine,” said Aranea. Always at Sky Haven Temple there was someone around, and at the Sleeping Giant too. He'd travelled alone to bring the Night Mother home, but that was it really. Cicero wasn't a man given to introversion, that was for sure. Not like her, used to long periods alone and secretly preferring them. Not like Lucien either.

 

“Is he getting on your nerves very much?” she asked, feeling a slight twinge of guilt. “I can try and distract him tomorrow if you want.”

 

“Oh he's not so bad,” said Lucien, half-smile on his face. “Reminds me of what it is to be young, although I'm not sure he's so very much younger than I was when I died. I'm getting rather fond of him. He's so eager to please. Delightful, really.”

 

“Careful,” Aranea said, getting off the bed and leaving them to it. “I believe that's how the Listener started out thinking about him. Now look at them both.”

 

Lucien ran ethereal fingers through Cicero's hair. Cicero stirred, murmuring something in his sleep but not actually waking. “I am keen to meet this Listener. It sounds like she and I have much to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will involve Aranea and Cicero reaching the actual College. Will there be a magical catastrophe? Murder? A fight? All of the above? Who can tell?


	19. The Break of Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eola and Delphine sort out Meridia's little necromancer problem, but on the way back, Delphine runs into an unwelcome confrontation with the consequence of her actions. Meanwhile Aranea and Cicero have managed to infiltrate the College, but how long will their cover hold up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist a bit of a Discworld crossover here. In the Discworld series, all libraries are connected via the mysteries of L-space for those that know how to use it, particularly ancient and arcane libraries. So I managed to write in a cameo for the Librarian of Unseen University, visiting Winterhold to do a bit of research. Enjoy!

Several hours earlier, and Delphine was trekking up the hill north of Dragon Bridge, following in Eola's wake as the younger woman raced ahead.

 

“This is it, it's this way!” Eola cried. “Yeah, it's these ruins, can't you hear her?”

 

“Afraid not,” said Delphine. “What's she saying?”

 

Eola ducked through a trilithon archway and looked about her, surveying what had clearly been a once great temple.

 

“She's sad,” said Eola, sobering up. “Bewailing the inconstancy of mortals. Says if they have no love for her, how can her love reach them?”

 

“She needs to get herself a Listener,” said Delphine, eyeing up the giant statue of the goddess that towered above them, and noting the Word Wall further up the hill. She'd need to send Cicero up here.

 

“Don't encourage her!” Eola cried. “I've had quite enough of her voice in my head!” Reaching into her pack for the beacon, she made her way up to the statue, placing the sphere on the small shrine there. Delphine came up behind her, watching in amazement as the sphere rose up in the air to hover in Meridia's hands, glowing, lit up by a ray of light from the heavens. It was a sight to behold... right up until the light deflected, hit Eola and she began rising to the heavens too.

 

“Eola!” Delphine cried, chasing after her.

 

“Delphine, help!” Eola shrieked, reaching back to Delphine helplessly. Delphine tried to grab her hand but Eola was moving too quickly and Delphine's fingers barely brushed hers before Eola was out of reach. Within seconds, she was just a dot in the sky.

 

“Eola,” Delphine whispered, her heart sinking. How was she going to explain this to Cicero?

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Eola tried not to look down, the whole of Skyrim sprawling beneath her, the Throat of the World silhouetted against the horizon. She was rising, rising, so fast she couldn't stop, and the air was getting colder. She could see dragons flying in the distance, and she was higher even than them.

 

“Please send me back,” she pleaded. “Please! I brought your sphere back!”

 

“Eventually,” Meridia growled. Eola looked up to see a brilliant ball of light that was not the sun flickering in front of her. “But yes, Namira's child, you did return it. Do not think me ungrateful. However, your work is not yet done.”

 

“You want more?” Eola asked, incredulous. What else could the Daedra of Life possibly want?

 

“My temple. It has been... polluted. Desecrated. By a filthy necromancer whose name I will not even speak. He's there now, using its energies to bring false life to those who have died in your war.”

 

“Not my war!” said Eola.

 

“Be that as it may,” said Meridia. “My temple is being misused. You and your most capable friend will enter it, lay the shades of the dead to rest and kill this necromancer by any means necessary. He has sealed the temple against intruders, but no matter. It is my temple and responds to my decree. I shall send down a ray of light to unseal it. You will guide this light through to penetrate its inner sanctum. Do this, and I shall reward you.”

 

“And if I've got better things to do?” Eola asked, still feeling a little belligerent.

 

“What makes you think you have a choice?” Meridia's voice rang in her head, pain arcing through Eola's mind, temporarily blinding her.

 

“All right, I'll do it!” Eola cried. The pain eased, and soon she was falling back to the ground. She crashlanded into the temple roof, at the feet of Meridia's statue, miraculously unharmed somehow.

 

“Eola,” and Delphine was there, arms around her, holding her up. Eola collapsed in her arms, shaking all over and relieved as she'd never been to be back on solid ground. It was a good five minutes before Eola felt able to speak.

 

“Are you alright?” Delphine asked, still rubbing Eola's back.

 

“I really don't like heights,” Eola whispered. “Even falling down the Throat of the World with Cicero was less frightening. At least Cicero cares if I live or die.”

 

It hadn't exactly been fun for Delphine either – she'd not felt quite so terrified and helpless in a long time. But Eola was back and safe and now perhaps they could go home.

 

“So what happened?” Delphine asked. “Did Meridia do that? What did she say?

 

“She wants more,” said Eola heavily. “We're to go into her temple and cleanse it. Apparently some necromancer's using it to create an army from the souls of the dead. She wants him stopped.”

 

“Does she now,” said Delphine thoughtfully. “By cleanse, I presume she means go in there and kill anything that moves.”

 

“Yeah. Why, you up for it?” Eola had seen that look on Delphine's face before and it usually meant someone else was in for a very unpleasant time.

 

Delphine reached for her ebony helmet, securing it into place. “Very. Come on Eola, let's go hunt some undead.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Aranea stared up at the College of Winterhold, feeling a little intimidated. Not that she had any doubt in her magical skills, of course, but to go in here under false pretences – well, she was a little nervous. Next to her, Cicero also looked worried, but not for the same reason.

 

“Sister, may we go inside?” Cicero asked, shivering in his armour. “It is very cold, and last time Cicero was here, he killed someone. The guards are looking at him suspiciously, sister!”

 

This was true, but Cicero was the type likely to get suspicious looks from the guards no matter where he went, and with good reason. Still, she could hardly let the poor man freeze.

 

“All right. We're going in. Just stay quiet, stand back and let me do the talking, hmm?”

 

Cicero nodded assent and followed her up the causeway. Biddable for now, but for how long, Aranea didn't like to speculate. It was just fortunate the snow bear outside town had done for Lucien, really. Cicero had howled over the pile of ectoplasm that remained, but Aranea had dissuaded him from resummoning the spectre. Passing off Cicero as her mercenary bodyguard was one thing, but trying to explain away their being followed by the ghost of the Speaker of Cheydinhal was quite another.

 

They'd not gone far when a figure stepped out in front of them, an Altmer woman in what Aranea knew full well were Destruction Master robes. Aranea's estimation of her own abilities was high, but she knew this woman was better.

 

“Who seeks admission to the College of Winterhold?”she asked, frowning at Cicero in particular. Aranea was just glad she'd switched her Shrouded robes for her usual blue ones.

 

“Me,” said Aranea, sweeping forward. “I've studied magic on my own for some time but felt the need for some more formal tuition. Are you accepting students?”

 

“We are, but we don't take just anyone,” said the woman “Is he with you?”

 

“He's my bodyguard,” said Aranea, a hand on Cicero's shoulder. “Very talented. Very useful. Not, alas, gifted in the magical arts, but nevertheless good to have around.”

 

Cicero swept the mage a deep bow but mercifully remained silent.

 

“Very well,” the mage replied. “I am Faralda, and I am the Destruction Master of the College of Winterhold. If you have the skill and aptitude for magic, we will teach you, but first you'll need to demonstrate your skill. Summon a Flame Atronach and we'll talk.”

 

Was that it? Really? Aranea did as asked, watching Faralda's expression change from cynical to impressed.

 

“Consider yourself in,” said Faralda, turning to lead them on into the College itself.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Ah, another new arrival – two new arrivals?” An elderly wizard surrounded by three eager young apprentices was waiting for them in the Hall of the Elements. Aranea had changed into the new set of Winterhold robes that the Master Wizard Mirabelle Ervine had given her. Cicero was still in his dragonscale armour, happily following along behind her. She could have left him in the small dormitory room in the Hall of Attainment, she supposed, but if she was honest, she much preferred to keep him where she could see him.

 

Cicero perched himself on the dais in the middle of the room, watching expectantly as Aranea approached the group.

 

“Just me,” said Aranea. “I'm Aranea Ienith. Cicero's just my bodyguard. He doesn't do magic.” Not strictly true – he could cast all the novice Destruction spells now, and also knew some healing magic. But he'd never be a mage. Not when he could do so much more with his blades.

 

“Are you Tolfdir?” Aranea asked. “I was told to find you here.”

 

“I am, yes. Come, join us, we had only just got started.” Tolfdir introduced the other three apprentices, a Nord called Onmund, another Dunmer called Brelyna and a Khajiit called J'zargo who looked them both over speculatively. He seemed particularly curious about Cicero but said nothing.

 

“So we were just discussing the importance of safely using magic and ensuring that you have taken all precautions before beginning,” said Tolfdir. “Magic is a powerful tool but you must control it – you must not let it control you.”

 

There was a predictable amount of complaining from the other students. Young, all of them, Aranea could tell. Young and impulsive and eager to get started on casting spells, destroying enemies, summoning Daedra, uncovering the secrets of the universe. She glanced at Cicero to see how he was doing, and to her surprise, he was actually listening intently, head tilted to one side in that bird-like way he had when he was concentrating. He might make a halfway decent student yet.

 

“But if we do not practice magic, how will we ever learn to control it?” J'zargo had asked. The other two had backed him up on this. Finally Tolfdir turned to Aranea.

 

“You've been quiet so far. What's your opinion, Aranea? Safety first or leap straight in?”

 

An interesting question, but Aranea had been around long enough to know the answer.

 

“By all means take precautions, but you can never eliminate danger entirely. Part of learning is taking a risk.”

 

“True that,” she heard Cicero chime in. “You can never win a fight if you use wooden daggers all your life.” He noticed everyone turn to stare at him and promptly blushed, huddling up in a ball. “But poor Cicero is just a humble fighter, he would know nothing of the magical arts.”

 

“An astute observation, nonetheless,” said Tolfdir, appraising Cicero keenly, clearly seeing something other than a mere mercenary there. “Very well then. As safety is our theme, we'll start with warding. Aranea, are you aware of how to cast a basic ward?”

 

Aranea was more than aware. She was also more than aware of how this knowledge usually got tested and was soon proved correct as Tolfdir had her up in front of the class to demonstrate.

 

“Now hold your ward up, keep it going, that's right, just like that...” Tolfdir sent a firebolt Aranea's way. Cicero was on his feet, hands to his daggers, but Aranea's ward dispersed it harmlessly, and Aranea's expression did the same to Cicero.

 

“Very good, very good indeed,” said Tolfdir approvingly. “Now the rest of you should keep practicing wards, learn to cast and maintain them. They're really very useful against all sorts of things, not just magic.”

 

“Yes, Aranea is now fully ready to hold her own in any fight where the nice necromancers wait for her to have her ward ready before casting lightning at her,” Cicero muttered under his breath. Tolfdir heard nothing, but one pair of ears swivelled at his words.

 

“Now, for the next lesson, we're going to do a little field work,” Tolfdir continued. “The ruins of one of the oldest cities in Skyrim, Saarthal itself, aren't far from here, and the College is currently excavating them. Tomorrow we're all going there so you can see for yourselves how magical research works. Class dismissed, I'll see you all in the morning.” He left the Hall, Brelyna and Onmund following behind. J'zargo however was watching Aranea and Cicero, very speculatively.

 

“So. The little jester thinks he knows about magical combat, does he? More than Master Tolfdir?”

 

“Khajiit,” said Aranea, raising her hands and sidestepping to get him in her lines of fire. “Leave him be.”

 

J'zargo backed off, raising his hands but closing his fists in what was evidently a variant of the Forsworn 'come in peace' signal.

 

“Forgive J'zargo, he meant no disrespect. But he heard your words, that enemies will not wait for you to have your ward up before casting. Tolfdir has asked us to practice – perhaps Aranea and Cicero, who both clearly seem to have experience of such matters, would be so kind as to assist J'zargo in his own training?”

 

“Cicero is hardly a mage,” said Cicero, flattered but a little baffled. “A few simple spells is all he knows.”

 

“I am though,” said Aranea. “Cicero, come here, I'll teach you how to do a basic ward and the apprentice-level ranged Destruction spells. Then maybe the three of us can have a little magical sparring session, hmm? No advanced magic, no summoning, fight until first hit, last one standing wins.”

 

“Proposition accepted,” J'zargo purred, waiting while Aranea quickly taught a delighted Cicero the basics of magical duelling. “On the count of three, then. One, two...”

 

No one waited until three. Aranea had her own ward up and an Ice Spike flying Cicero's way, while J'zargo had sent lightning flying at her. Cicero meanwhile had backflipped across the room out of harm's way and was now sending fire from each hand at the pair of them.

 

The fight was on in earnest, all three dodging and weaving around the room, magic flying everywhere, J'zargo hissing with his fur standing on end, Aranea shouting invocations to Azura and Nerevar, and Cicero cackling madly, occasionally bursting into song. He didn't do much actual warding, relying primarily on his usual tactic of constantly moving too fast to hit.

 

It finally ended when one of J'zargo's lightning bolts got past Aranea's defences, distracted as she was by the flames Cicero was sending her way. Aranea staggered back, falling to her knees in surrender. J'zargo grinned, looking for Cicero next. The jester was nowhere to be seen – not until he pounced on J'zargo from behind, grabbed him in a headlock and nicked the Khajiit's cheek with the point of his dagger.

 

“And if I chance to see a cat, I'll feed its corpse to my pet rat!” Cicero crowed, delighted with the victory. He released J'zargo and danced over to Aranea, helping her to her feet.

 

“Practiced enough?” Aranea asked, unable to repress a smile. J'zargo hauled himself to his feet, a quick burst of healing magic fixing the cut Cicero had left.

 

“You are good,” he admitted. “Both of you. You are not merely an apprentice mage and her hired mercenary, are you?”

 

He regretted saying this almost immediately as both of their expressions hardened and Cicero's knives came out for real this time.

 

“But J'zargo will not tell anyone,” he said hastily. “Whatever Aranea and Cicero want at this College, it is their business alone and not J'zargo's. As long as they will please not harm this one.”

 

Cicero's daggers found their sheaths again as he glanced at Aranea. The Dunmer lowered her hands, relaxing.

 

“We're just here for research, nothing more,” said Aranea. “Perhaps I'm not exactly apprentice-level any more, and perhaps Cicero's not a run of the mill fighter either. But we're here for the same reason you are. Knowledge. That's all.”

 

“J'zargo understands perfectly,” said J'zargo, purring as he spoke and slowly blinking in the traditional Khajiit way of showing friendship. “Come, let J'zargo show you where food is to be found, hmm?”

 

Aranea and Cicero assented, following him out. J'zargo breathed an inward sigh of relief. He'd heard the story last time he was in town of a flying visit by a red-haired Imperial in a jester's hat, and Nelacar the mage turning up dead the next day. While the handprint on Cicero's armour was the wrong colour, J'zargo was in no doubt as to its significance. What the Dark Brotherhood wanted in Winterhold, he had no idea, but unless there was a contract out on him, he was quite happy to leave them to it.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Touch nothing,” was all Aranea said to Cicero as she swept into the library. She'd heard from Delphine what had happened last time Cicero had been left unattended in a mage's office. From what Eola and Calixto had told her, she didn't think Urag gro-Shub would be as forgiving as Farengar had been.

 

“Oh yes, sister! You're the boss!” Cicero said cheerfully. While Aranea approached the grizzled old Orc behind the main desk, Cicero followed obediently, poking at the odd book but otherwise being perfectly well-behaved.

 

“I don't want to see you treating any of these books poorly. Are we understood?” Urag growled as he saw Aranea approach. “You're one of the new blood, aren't you? Well, don't know what Tolfdir and Mirabelle have told you, but when you're here, you're in my domain. Mistreat anything, and you will be sorry. And is he with you?”

 

“Yes, but he's harmless, really,” said Aranea, hoping Azura could forgive such blatant fibbing in pursuit of a good cause.

 

“He'd better be,” Urag growled. “He interferes with anything, he suffers.”

 

Aranea noticed Cicero idly wandering around, his eyes falling on what looked to be a large red-haired beast-man wandering the shelves. Eyes widening, he scampered over to it.

 

“Cicero!” Aranea called. “Cicero, you should really come back here!”

 

Cicero ignored her completely. Aranea turned back to Urag.

 

“Er, what - who is that?”

 

The Orc appeared to have relaxed a fraction.

 

“Colleague of mine, Librarian from another college. He visits now and then to do a bit of research. I've been known to go over there myself from time to time. He can take care of himself, doesn't like books being harmed any more than I do. I'm not worried about your friend doing any damage near him.”

 

Well, that probably made Urag the only person in the universe not to be worried about Cicero doing any damage. Still, no help for it – Aranea had a job to do and she wasn't going to let Cicero sidetrack her. She'd worry about him when the screaming started.

 

Cicero hopped up to the large man-beast, his curiosity piqued. It was built a bit like a troll but with shorter legs and much longer arms and only two eyes, and what it was doing in the College of Winterhold's Arcanaeum was anyone's guess. To Cicero's surprise, it did actually appear to be scanning the shelves, occasionally reaching down the odd book and actually reading it.

 

“Hello,” said Cicero, fascinated. “Are you a student here too? Or do you work here?”

 

The beast turned and glared at him. “Oook,” it said, frowning down at him from the step it was standing on.

 

“Sorry, good, er, sir,” said Cicero, completely unsure of what to actually call the thing but guessing sir would do. He just hoped the beast actually was a sir and not a madam, but some instinct told him it was male. He was far too well-bred to take advantage of the thing's nudity and look. “Cicero has not seen one of your kindred before. He was curious. But you have red hair! Like Cicero! Well, not exactly like Cicero's, mine is darker and you have much more of it, although that might be a good thing considering the lack of your, er, attire – aren't you cold??”

 

“Oook,” said the beast, implying that if Cicero had a question, Cicero would be best served by just asking it and then going away so he could get back to work.

 

“Cicero was looking for an Elder Scroll,” said Cicero, smiling hopefully. Unlike most other people on the receiving end of this smile, the beast didn't even flinch, just pulling its own lips back a little in response. “Cicero was wondering if this library had one? He needs to borrow it and take it to the Throat of the World so he can find out the Dragonrend Shout, use it to kill Alduin and save the world.”

 

“Ooook?” The beast looked totally bewildered. Cicero had to laugh.

 

“Yes, it's insane, I know! And they have the nerve to say Cicero is mad. Yet fate has sent me on this fool's errand. Hah! A fool's errand! For the Fool of Hearts! Do you get it?”

 

“Oook,” the beast sighed wearily, indicating that yes, he got it, could Cicero please shut up now? “Ooook ook,” he added thoughtfully, clearly thinking of something that might help.

 

“Oooh!” Cicero cried, clapping his hands and dancing merrily on the spot. “The kind sir will help?”

 

“Oook. Oook oooook,” the beast sighed, clambering off the stepladder it was standing on and disappearing amidst the shelves with commendable speed. Cicero considered following but decided against it. Even he'd have trouble keeping up. Soon, his new friend was back, clutching three books, one called _Effects of the Elder Scrolls_ , one called _Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls,_ and something called the _Encyclopaedia Britannica – Oncology to Parakeets_.

 

“Oook,” he said pointedly, passing the Elder Scrolls books to Cicero and flipping the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_ open to a page with pictures of beasts exactly like the one in front of him. 

 

“Ooooh! Pictures! Pretty pictures of you! Or people like you? Your family? No – other kinds of...” Cicero read where the beast was pointing. “Orang-utang? A species of ape of the primate family, resident in the tropical forests of Borneo. Borneo. Cicero has never heard of it, is that where you're from?”

 

“Oook,” the orang-utang replied, shaking its head and taking the book back. He pointed at the Elder Scrolls books. “Ooook. Ooook?”

 

Cicero scooped them up, squealing. “They'll do. They'll do! Sister Aranea will be so pleased. Thank you, kind sir! Humble Cicero will not forget this service!” He raced off to where Aranea was arguing with the Orc librarian.

 

“An Elder Scroll? Do you think if we had one of those here, I'd let you see it?” Urag demanded. “Do you even know what you're asking?”

 

“Please,” said Aranea desperately. “We just need to know where to find one. I was told you might be able to help, or that your friend Septimus might know.”

 

“Septimus has been gone for a long time,” said Urag, some sadness in his eyes. “Don't know if he ever found what he was after. Where did you hear about him anyhow?”

 

“Sister, sister, the nice ape helped me find these!” Cicero cried, dumping the books on the desk on front of them. “Look! Books on the Elder Scrolls!”

 

“Well I'll be damned. The old Unseen Librarian helped you get these? He must have taken a liking to you, boy,” said Urag, impressed.

 

“Unseen?” Cicero asked, confused. “He was perfectly visible to Cicero. Big wide face and lots of hair and long arms. And no clothes. I don't know why he didn't have clothes. I suppose it must be difficult finding them in his size.”

 

“No, that's where he's from, Unseen University. Nobody knows what he's called. He's just the Librarian there. Now let's take a look at what he's got you. Hey, old Septimus' book's here. Huh. Must be a sign. Well, why don't I let you read and when you're done, if you still want to know about Elder Scrolls, I can tell you where he went. Don't know how helpful those books will be, they're mostly lies, leavened by rumour and conjecture. But it's all we've got.”

 

“That would be lovely, thank you,” said Aranea, taking the books under one arm, Cicero in the other and retreating to a desk to read. At least this was likely to be a bit more sedate and calm. One look at Septimus Signis' _Ruminations,_ however and Aranea felt in urgent need of a lie-down.

 

“What is wrong?” Cicero asked, concerned. “Sister, are you well?”

 

“Does this mean anything to you?” she asked, pushing the book over to him. Might as well get it looked over by someone fluent in Lunatic. Cicero read it, pursing his lips. He scanned the first page, raised his eyebrows, made himself comfortable and started reading in earnest, fascinated. Aranea left him to get on with it and read the other one.

 

They both finished around the same time, Aranea feeling vaguely perturbed, Cicero looking delighted.

 

“Well, according to that one, you're likely to go blind if you read the Scroll, but it could just be rubbish,” said Aranea, pushing the book away. Cicero didn't seem bothered.

 

“Cicero has good hearing. And he learnt how to fight blindfolded at Bruma. He can live without his eyesight, as long as sweet Delphine will still want him. Also it is not the first time he has been warned he would go blind from looking at certain books – it didn't happen then either.”

 

“Quite,” said Aranea, keen to steer the conversation far far away from Cicero's forays into the world of erotic literature. “What did you find?”

 

Cicero lowered his voice, his eyes shining with unholy glee. “Sister, the Scrolls are like the warp-weft of space-time, and we are breathe-drinking them in like the sea-algae on the keel of the ship of infinity.”

 

_Sweet, sweet Azura, give me strength_ . “Yes, but what does it mean?” she sighed.

 

“Ah. Well, Cicero isn't sure yet, he will need to re-read and think it over. But it's beautifully written!” he beamed, stroking the book adoringly.

 

Aranea pushed her hood back as she rested her head on the desk, no longer caring who was watching.

 

“Does it say where we might find one?” she asked, more out of hope than any serious expectation of help. Cicero nodded enthusiastically, giving her the faintest of faint hopes... only to dash them brutally.

 

“In the fabric of the Void, shining like the stars in the sky, sparkling in turn as one rises and one falls!” he said cheerfully. Aranea could feel the scream building up, coiling inside like a dragon ready to strike, and only the fear of Delphine kept her from sending Cicero to the Void to find one personally. Getting up, she went in search of Urag. 

 

The Orc glanced up as she came back, smiling grimly as he saw the frazzled look on her face.

 

“Been reading the Ruminations, eh? It has that effect on people.”

 

“You said Septimus Signis is out there somewhere. Where is he? I've got questions for him.” _Mainly along the lines of what in Oblivion are you talking about, you utter utter madman..._

 

“Here. Out in the icefields in the frozen north,” said Urag, indicating on her map. “Found some Dwemer contraption out there, stayed to study it. You're welcome to go and visit, but don't get your hopes up. Don't think he's had visitors in a long time.”

 

Aranea glanced back at Cicero, who was avidly reading Septimus' book again. “Don't worry. I've a feeling he'll get on with Cicero just fine.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Who needs Cicero!” Eola laughed, lightning blasting into the necromancer's shade as Delphine's katana pierced its heart. The thing screamed its last and collapsed, finally dead for good.

 

“He'd have liked this,” said Delphine, surveying the scene, strewn with desecrated corpses even Eola refused to touch, the remnants of their shades and of course, the necromancer's body. “Can't remember the last time I did anything quite this violent. Wait, yes I do and he was with me on all occasions. Feels a bit odd doing this much bloodletting without him.”

 

“Do you want me to sing?” Eola asked. “I think I know quite a few of his favourites by heart now. _Madness is merry and merriment's might, when Eola comes calling with her knife in the night!_ ” She pirouetted up to Delphine in a fair impression of Cicero, ending with her back arched and head back, staring right up into Delphine's eyes with a demented grin. “Still miss him?”

 

“Stop that at once,” said Delphine, lifting Eola upright. That was unsettling, and not just because it was a very good impression of Cicero at his best/worst/maddest/sexiest, as if there was a difference between those states.

 

“Good impression?” Eola smirked.

 

“Too good,” was all Delphine felt safe saying. Eola's feral nature wasn't far different from Cicero's own, if rather more presentable, and the younger woman's predatory grace was already affecting her in ways she didn't really want to dwell on. Seeing her lover's mannerisms on her was just disturbing.

 

“IT IS DONE,” Meridia's voice echoed across the temple, audible to both of them this time. “Come, step forward, reclaim my token Dawnbreaker. It is time to restore its light to this world.”

 

Presumably this meant the sword buried blade first in the altar.

 

“You want?” Eola asked. Delphine waved her ahead.

 

“You go. You had the voice in your head all this time. I'd say you've earned it.”

 

Eola actually squealed and leapt up to the altar, removing the sword, scabbard and all, fastening it to her waist. Of course, that was when the beam of light from above shone down on to her, lifting her up through the roof and into the sky before Delphine could even react.

 

Wearily, Delphine picked her way out of the temple. One day, she'd acquire some recruits without a gift for finding trouble. That day was clearly some way off.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

She finally found Eola sprawled unconscious in front of the statue of Meridia, thankfully unharmed and still breathing. Ripping her ebony helmet off, Delphine knelt next to her, gently shaking her shoulder.

 

“Eola. Eola, wake up. Talk to me. Are you alright?”

 

Eola's eyes fluttered open, and she smiled, looking innocent like a newborn.

 

“Hey,” she whispered. “Mama Del. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. You've got helmet hair.”

 

Delphine hastily brushed her hair into some sort of shape before wondering why that should even bother her.

 

“What happened?” she asked.

 

“It's done. I got to keep the sword. It's shiny and fiery and the bane of the undead, and it's really pretty. Like you.” Eola giggled, clearly still affected by whatever Meridia had told her. At least, Delphine hoped so anyway. If Eola did have some sort of crush on her, it was best left alone for all sorts of reasons.

 

“And you're clearly concussed,” said Delphine, reaching for a healing potion. “Here, drink this.”

 

“I'm fine!” Eola protested. “Really I am! Now Meridia's out of my head and I'm back on the ground and you're here.” Still, she sipped the potion and let Delphine help her up, leaning heavily on her shoulder.

 

“Sleepy,” Eola sighed. “Can we get the carriage?”

 

“No,” said Delphine. “But we'll stay at Dragon Bridge overnight. No rush heading back.”

 

The two of them made it back to Dragon Bridge, booking a room at the Four Shields. Eola promptly collapsed in the large double bed, pausing only to strip off her boots and armour and slide under the furs. Delphine left her to sleep and went back out to have some food. It was late and they'd been busy all day, after all.

 

“No,” Faida the innkeeper sobbed. “No! It's not true, it can't be!” She was being comforted by what looked like the Penitus Oculatus commander himself. He looked equally affected, but the expression on his face was one of fury.

 

“He is dead, Faida. I'm sorry,” he told her, rubbing her back as she howled on his shoulder. “The report says it was in a tavern brawl of some kind, over some woman? But I don't believe that for a second.”

 

Faida shook her head. “Never. He would never have betrayed me like that.”

 

“No, my son's no traitor,” Maro growled. He was shaking with emotion, and Delphine slipped back into the room before he could see her, guilt striking at her heart. “My son would never... could never...!” He tightened his grip on Faida. “If you ever need anything, Faida, anything at all, you come to me. I know what you two were to each other. You won't go hungry because some coward killed my son.” His voice cracked on the last word, and Delphine closed the door, unable to bear it any more. Job done then.

 

_Talos, Talos, why, why did you summon a Dragonborn who was in the Dark Brotherhood? And why me? Why me as Listener? What did I do?_ Guilt clawed at her insides at what had transpired because of her – an innocent man dead and his reputation ruined, his fiancee heartbroken and his father clearly devastated, all because of her. It wasn't even personal, just a step on the way to a much bigger prey. He didn't deserve this, none of them did. But she couldn't stop now. Far too late to back out. Cicero would never forgive her, none of them would understand. Her little brood of monsters needed her, and she'd sworn to protect and serve the Dragonborn. He'd wanted a Listener and he'd got one. Bound by the Night Mother and her oath as a Blade. All the same, she could wish she'd never started down this path. Even falling in love was little consolation at a time like this.

 

_Oh Cicero. I hope you appreciate all this. Wherever you are, I hope you're safe and well and happy, and not too many people have died. I wish you were here. I don't think you'd even begin to understand why I'm upset but at least you could hold me._

 

Stripping off her armour and changing into a night shift, she let her hair down and slipped into bed, head buried in the pillow.

 

“Del?” Eola whispered. “Are you alright?”

 

“I'm fine,” Delphine whispered. “I miss Cicero. But I'm alright. Go to sleep.”

 

“You're not alright, Sithis, Delphine, you're crying.” Eola's arm slid round her, chin resting on Delphine's shoulder. “Talk to me, honey. You can't miss him that badly, you aren't the type to bawl your eyes out just because your man's not there.”

 

“Faida's man's not there either,” Delphine whispered. “Faida's man's never coming home again. Because I ordered him killed, not because he was a bad person or anything. Just because someone wanted him dead, to get at someone else. I faked up the evidence to implicate him in some conspiracy that doesn't even exist, and it's good evidence too because I know what I'm doing. The man's reputation's ruined. I didn't just kill him. I destroyed him. And he'd done _nothing wrong._ ”

 

Nothing wrong. He'd done nothing wrong. The enormity of what she'd done finally sank in and the tears started to fall in earnest. Sobbing, she let Eola hold her, hating herself, hating what she'd turned into, hating all of it, the Night Mother, Sithis, Talos, even Cicero a little, although not for long.

 

“Listener,” she heard Eola whisper. “Mama Listener. Don't cry. Please. It's alright. It'll be alright. We'll get you home and look after you, spoil you rotten, and then when Aranea and Cicero get back, Cicero can take care of you and Aranea can listen. She spent years in Morrowind counselling Brotherhood members. Care to place a bet her services were most in need when they started doubting themselves?”

 

“How do you manage it?” Delphine whispered, clinging on to Eola for dear life. “How can you and Cicero just get out there and kill and not even think twice about it?”

 

“We're not normally confronted with the grieving relatives afterwards,” said Eola gently. “And me and him, we've been at this for years. I was hunting since my teens, been with the coven for four years now, and you know Cicero's messed up. Saw his mum butchered by the Aldmeri Dominion, if he'd been normal before, he never was after that. Dark Brotherhood recruiting requirements – we only take people who've already murdered. I know you were a thief at one point, but you were never a murderer, were you?”

 

“No, not really,” Delphine sighed. “Killed plenty of times, but always agents or soldiers or people who were likely to sell me out to the Thalmor, never civilians. Never like this.”

 

“See, you're not like us,” said Eola, stroking Delphine's hair, forehead pressed to Delphine's own. “You've still got a conscience. We all signed up, you got hijacked into it, the way I hear it told. You followed a Dragonborn, found a Brotherhood. Found all of us. I tell you, Delphine, there is not a single member of this Sanctuary who wouldn't die for you in a heartbeat. We love you, Listener. We are so, so proud of you. I know it's hard for you. I know and I'm sorry. It's why we do what we do, so you don't have to deal with this. It's why Cicero worries about you the way he does, why the old Brotherhood separated out the responsibility – the Listener never knew who the victims were, the Speakers did the client meetings but never the actual killing, the assassins did the kills but never knew why or for who. No one wants to know the whole story, because so many of our kills don't deserve it. You think I want to know or care about who they were? As far as I'm concerned they're all just meat, and if I stopped thinking that... I don't know what I'd do.”

 

“I don't know what _I'm_ going to do,” said Delphine miserably. “I've got at least one contract to hand over to you. I've got another kill after that, and that one... I can't even describe it. I just... it's a big one, it has to work and... look at me, Eola, I'm a wreck. How can I be Listener like this??”

 

Eola's hand cupped Delphine's face, a thumb brushing her tears away.

 

“You listen,” Eola whispered. “You listen and you plan, and you stay safe at Sky Haven Temple. And you will tell us what needs doing, and we will do it. We will make these kills, and we will live with the consequences. We'll do it because we're murdering bastards with no hearts and no mercy and we enjoy it. We'll do it so you don't have to. Someone wants all of them dead. Doesn't matter why, doesn't matter what they did or didn't do. If not us, someone else would be doing it, and as Aranea said, we'd all be hunting anyway. May as well hunt people that have at least one person who'll be pleased by it, and get paid too, hey? We'll do all that, and you don't need to think about it or deal with it. You just make your plans and give your orders. We will take care of it and we will take care of you, because you're ours, lady. You're our Matriarch and we will serve you all the days of our lives and yours. I swear it, Del.”

 

“And if I don't want it any more?” Delphine asked, feeling torn between the horrible guilt at what she'd caused, and the gratitude at hearing what her new Family really thought of her.

 

Eola's grip tightened. “Then we'd beg you not to go,” she breathed into Delphine's ear, pulling Delphine down to rest on her shoulder, holding her tightly in a way more befitting a lover than anything else. “All of us. But especially me, and Cicero most of all. It would destroy him if you left, you know. He'd cope with you dumping him, just about. But if you walked away from the Brotherhood, left the Night Mother, not just him... Del, he's getting saner. Slowly but surely. He's getting better. Oh, he's still a little brat, sure. But he doesn't hear voices any more. He's present, fully present these days. Still does the singing and the dancing, but because he likes doing it more than anything else. I think he's always going to be a hyperactive little daredevil with a violent streak. But he's happier and saner than he's been in years, and you did that. All you. He's not here to fling himself on you and have hysterics at the thought of losing you, so I guess I'll have to do it. Please don't go. It'll be alright.”

 

A pause. Delphine had actually stopped crying at least. She looked up, frowning slightly.

 

“Are you emotionally blackmailing me into keeping on being Listener?”

 

“Is it working?” asked Eola hopefully. Delphine let out a short, sharp laugh and pushed her away, turning to lie on her back, staring at the ceiling. To Eola's relief, she began to smile.

 

“Damn you. You are a devious little cat, aren't you? Eola darling, in future leave the counselling to Aranea, she's better at it.” She patted Eola's hand. “But you made me laugh. Thank you. Not sure what I'm thanking you for exactly, you're a manipulative daedra-loving murderer and quite happy to stay that way.”

 

“Aw, you say the nicest things,” Eola purred. Delphine rolled her eyes. Here were her close people, her Family, and they were, not to put too fine a point on it, unrepentant monsters. Still, they were the ones doing the actual killing. Always helped to have that sort of thing done by the conscience-free, she supposed. Especially as they'd likely be out there murdering anyway. It didn't entirely fill the hollow feeling inside. But it did at least help her get to sleep that night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The snow had stopped falling and the skies were clear in Winterhold as Aranea and Cicero crossed the courtyard back to the Hall of Attainment. Cicero had his hands in his pockets, kicking at the snow, staying at Aranea's side. Apparently even Cicero had more sense than to wander off exploring on his own in a college full of experimental magic waiting to go wrong.

 

A shadowy figure, taller than either of them and wearing a style of robe familiar to both of them stepped out of the shadows, arms folded and staring down at them. Cicero's hands went to his daggers and Aranea didn't even bother trying to stop him.

 

“So you're the new apprentice. And her... bodyguard.” The sneer in Ancano's voice spoke volumes about what he thought of their cover story, and Aranea didn't like the way he was looking at Cicero.

 

“Ancano, is it?” Aranea asked, keeping her voice level. “I remember seeing you talking to Mirabelle when we got here. Are you some sort of advisor?”

 

“I'm the Thalmor advisor to the College, and you'd do best to remember that,” Ancano snapped, staring at her with eyes colder than the weather. “I heard you and your... companion were asking questions in the Arcanaeum. Researching the Elder Scrolls?” He leaned closer, forcing Aranea to lean back to keep meeting his eyes. “Why does a simple Dunmer apprentice need to know about something like that? Are you looking for one?”

 

Aranea reached out to place a hand on Cicero's wrist. The little jester was glaring at Ancano as if he'd dearly like to end the Altmer's life right there and then. Aranea didn't blame him. Last thing she needed was their names ending up in some report to Elenwen, especially if Elenwen realised that the Cicero mentioned was the same one who'd broken in to the Embassy.

 

“Why, do the Thalmor have one?” she shot back. Ancano's face creased up in fury, but he didn't do anything, just stepping away from her.

 

“That is none of your business,” he snapped at her.

 

“Nor are the personal research interests of College students,” said Aranea, taking Cicero's arm. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed.” Taking Cicero with her, she swept off towards the Hall of Attainment.

 

“He knows too much,” said Cicero softly, once they were inside. “I think he recognised poor Cicero. Harridan Elenwen must have sent his description to her agents in the field.”

 

“Agreed,” Aranea murmured back. “He could prove a complication that we can do without.”

 

A grin spread across Cicero's face. “Sister. Are you implying that humble Cicero should perhaps take steps to... simplify matters?”

 

Aranea smiled back, patting his shoulder. “Do what you do best, brother.”

 

Cicero needed no further encouragement. Hours later, when the rest of the College lay sleeping, no one noticed a dark figure moving noiselessly towards the Hall of Countenance.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Oh hey, you're up early. Did you want to get an early start on the road to Saarthal?”

 

Aranea and Cicero both froze as Brelyna's voice echoed across the Hall. What they'd actually been hoping to do was make the most of the winter daylight and trek across the icefields to find Septimus, not get dragged into a field trip where they'd be closely watched all day, wasting valuable time.

 

“Absolutely,” Aranea lied. Cicero nodded vigorously.

 

“Humble Cicero is always willing to learn,” he said cheerfully.

 

“Not today, I'm afraid.” Tolfdir seemed far more sombre than they'd yet seen him as he stepped into the Hall of Attainment from outside, shaking the snow from his shoulders. “The field trip is going to have to be put on hold for the time being. There's been an incident.”

 

“An incident? What sort of incident?” Of course, Aranea could guess all too well what sort of incident had happened, which is why she'd stepped forward and positioned herself between Cicero and Tolfdir.

 

Behind her, the other three apprentices had gathered, all equally curious.

 

“The field trip has been cancelled? J'zargo is most disappointed. He had hoped to find arcane magical artefacts, or at least treasure.”

 

“Yes, cancelled,” Tolfdir sighed. “A most urgent matter has arisen here and I'll need to stay and help Mirabelle take care of it.”

 

“What sort of urgent matter?” asked Onmund. “Must be important if you're needed here. Has there been some kind of magical accident?”

 

“No, this was all too mundane,” said Tolfdir. “I suppose there's no point keeping it from you all, the news is already spreading. Ancano, the Thalmor emissary to the College, was found dead this morning. Looks like he fell from the roof of the College. Whether it was accident or murder or suicide or something else, I don't know. All I do know is there's going to be an investigation and it'll be some time before the College can spare my services for anything else. I am very sorry about all this. Why don't you carry on with your own researches and practice your spells for now. I'll see about sorting out a revised lesson plan within the next few days.”

 

Tolfdir left them to it and it wasn't long before the apprentices dispersed too. They all seemed shocked, but it wasn't like any of them had particularly liked or trusted Ancano after all. Brelyna and Onmund had soon gone back to their studies, and Aranea and Cicero prepared to slip out again, this time unnoticed by all... except one.

 

J'zargo watched from the corner of his eye as Dunmer and jester-assassin left without so much as a goodbye. Understandable really, if he'd just thrown someone off a roof the previous night, he wouldn't want to hang around either, and he doubted very much that it was the fall alone that had killed Ancano. He'd not heard talk of anyone actually wanting the Thalmor wizard dead, but it wasn't out of the question Ancano had had enemies outside the College too – likely, in fact. Job done by two very talented professionals. It was true what he'd heard then – the Brotherhood were back and back in style. Not a line of work he'd ever be likely to take up himself of course... but J'zargo made a mental note that if he ever found himself in a tight spot and required assistance, he could do a lot worse than track down those two for aid.

 

“Aranea and Cicero, may your roads carry you to warm sands,” he whispered, before returning to his experiments. He'd get those scrolls right if it killed him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Morning had left Delphine feeling, if not overjoyed with her life, less despairing than before. Breakfast helped too, although Delphine still flinched every time she saw Faida's puffy red eyes. They were soon on the road, neither woman saying a word to the other, just walking swiftly away from the town in mourning.

 

They walked in silence, Delphine not objecting when Eola took Delphine's hand in hers. It was a beautiful morning, peaceful, sunny, a few wild animals but no trouble on the road. All was well... until they reached the turning for the Reach and home. Delphine let go of Eola's hand.

 

“Well, Eola. This is where you and I part ways.”

 

Eola's mind flashed back to the night before, Delphine weeping softly in her arms, talking about giving the whole thing up and walking away, and she went cold inside.

 

“No, no you can't,” she whispered, horrified. “You can't just walk away – you can't just leave me!” The last phrase turned into a shriek, and Delphine was staring at her in shocked surprise.

 

“Us,” said Eola quickly. “Please don't leave us, Listener! We need you!”

 

“I'm going back to Sky Haven Temple,” said Delphine pointedly. “You on the other hand have got a job to do. Could you perhaps pull yourself together?”

 

“I – I knew that,” Eola laughed, hoping it didn't sound quite as forced as it felt. “Contract! Awesome! I'm all over it, who do you want killing?”

 

“Orc called Balagog gro-Nolob. Currently on an extended stay at the Nightgate Inn in the Pale, you know it? North from Whiterun then east towards Windhelm. Just off the road, if you find yourself at Anga's Mill, you've passed it.” Delphine marked the location on Eola's map for her.

 

“I'm on it,” Eola promised. “Anything I need to know?”

 

“Yes,” said Delphine. “It's important, more important than you might think. There's a lot riding on this one, an awful lot. There's three things I need you to do.”

 

“Three things, right,” said Eola, professionalism finally reasserting itself. She was the damn Fire Huntress, named by a bloody dragon of all things, she didn't need to go fawning over the Listener like some girl with a crush. “Name 'em.”

 

“First, no one must see you do it. Get in, get out, unseen. No witnesses. Second, he'll be carrying a Writ of Passage granting him admittance to the Emperor's quarters. Get it for me. I want that Writ, understand?”

 

“Understood,” said Eola, guessing that here was yet another innocent person dying to serve someone else's agenda. She decided it was probably best not to remind Delphine of that though. “The third thing?”

 

“Hide the body,” said Delphine. “How you do that's up to you, but I don't want a corpse found, not for some considerable time. Make it look like the guy upped and left on his own. Is all this clear?”

 

“Kill with no witnesses, get the Writ of Passage, hide body. Got it,” said Eola, already salivating at the prospect of Orc. She always liked the jobs she could get her teeth into.

 

“Good,” said Delphine, lips curling into a smile. “Now go. The Emperor's visit's imminent, we need this sorting before it happens and they move him. Kill well.”

 

“I will,” Eola promised. Bidding Delphine goodbye, she set off towards Whiterun.

 

Delphine watched her go, bittersweet expression on her face. Another life ruined. She just hoped Balagog gro-Nolob didn't have any family to miss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Unseen University is the Discworld's university for wizards and it is rather reminiscent of the College of Winterhold if it had ended up in the middle of Riften instead of Winterhold. Their Librarian used to be a wizard until a magical accident turned him into an orang-utang and he decided he preferred being that way.
> 
> Next week, Cicero gets to meet Septimus Signis, and then it's all off to Blackreach to find the Scroll.


	20. Discerning the Transmundane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aranea and Cicero go in search of the Elder Scroll, Cicero gets to meet someone madder than he is, Lucien is a snarky bastard, and having a Dragonborn with a love of shiny things is a positive advantage sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one this - Blackreach was the part of the game I liked the least and it shows.

Aranea couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so cold in her life. Even camping out at the Shrine of Azura in all weather hadn't been this bad – at least she'd had a fire to warm herself by. Honestly, if she'd not been a Dunmer, with Ancestor's Wrath and that higher body temperature to look after her, she wasn't sure she'd have survived that trek. As it was, she and Cicero had both been drinking Frost Resistance potions all morning, and she was sure she had frostbite starting to set in from that time she'd fallen in the freezing cold sea water. Fortunately, she was more than skilled enough in Restoration magic to stop that in its tracks.

 

Annoyingly, Cicero hadn't fallen in once. He'd just hopped from ice floe to ice floe, whistling as he did so, the agility that served him so well in combat serving him again here. How he did it, Aranea had no idea, but he was as graceful and mobile as a professional dancer. He still looked cold though.

 

“Cicero does not like the cold,” he shivered. “If sweet Delphine had not asked him this... Cicero misses Cyrodiil.”

 

Aranea glanced at his ears and placed her hands over them, letting the healing magic flow. They looked too red for her liking.

 

Cicero squealed as she cast.

 

“Ooh, sister! That tickles!”

 

“Everything tickles, according to you,” said Aranea tersely. “How Delphine has not kicked you out of bed yet in sheer frustration, I don't know. No, DON'T tell me!”

 

Cicero closed his mouth, shrugging. If he was honest, he wasn't sure he wanted to set a precedent regarding discussing his sex life with Aranea. She might reciprocate, and Cicero was certain he didn't want to know what Aranea got up to behind closed doors. Bad enough two of his siblings were constantly eyeing her up.

 

“Is this it?” he asked, indicating the wooden door in the nearby rock. “Is this where this most wise and insightful scholar is hiding?”

 

“I hope so,” said Aranea. “I can't see there being anyone else this far out. Let's give it a try, even if it's not him, they might know where he is.”

 

“If they don't try and kill us on sight,” said Cicero cheerfully. Only he could look quite that pleased at the thought of some bloodletting. Pushing the door open, Aranea crept in.

 

The ice cave inside led down a roughly hewn corridor which opened out into a large cavern. The presence of a bookcase, chair and desk, and a huge Dwemer box against one wall all looked like promising signs, but most promising of all was the blue-robed wizard muttering to himself in front of the box.

 

“That's him,” Aranea murmured. Cicero needed no further encouragement. Producing the copy of _Ruminations_ that he'd 'borrowed' from the Arcanaeum, he raced down the path, skidding to a halt in front of the surprised wizard.

 

“What is this?” Septimus cried. “Have the gods sent a jester to me now? A fool, to mock Septimus' researches?”

 

“No, no, not the gods, no!” Cicero laughed. “Cicero has heard that you are Septimus Signis and that you are the greatest scholar on the Elder Scrolls in all of Tamriel. Is this so?”

 

Aranea followed Cicero down to the bottom of the ice cave, curious as to how Septimus would react to Cicero. It was always entertaining, watching people meet Cicero for the first time.

 

“Oh yes, yes!” Septimus laughed. “Well, Septimus Signis stands before you, yes. Whether he is the greatest scholar of the Scrolls is another matter. Many would say otherwise, but I have probed the void, risen to the depths, seen into the fabric of being itself! I have known the unknowable and seen the unseeable, yes. Septimus knows a great many things, about the Scrolls and other things too, yes. But Septimus does not know you and your... friend here. What has brought you to me?”

 

Aranea stepped forward, placing a hand on Cicero's shoulder. “I'm Aranea Ienith, a student at Winterhold, and this is my companion Cicero. We read your book on the Elder Scrolls, and had questions.”

 

Cicero nodded vigorously. “Oh yes! Cicero liked your book, liked it very much indeed. The words sang to him, they did, they did! Cicero does not yet know if he is the bird or the wind, but he will surely ponder it.”

 

Septimus had looked a little suspicious at the mention of Winterhold, but brightened up considerably at Cicero's words.

 

“Why, neither, dear boy! Or both. Neither and both at once. That is the beauty, the mystery and the Scrolls are all! All, nothing, both bird, breeze and the rock that kills it.”

 

Cicero looked a little confused, then he grinned.

 

“Cicero knows what he is! Cicero is usually the rock that kills. Or the knife, sword, arrow, garotte or poison. Cicero is not fussy.”

 

“The Scrolls,” said Aranea, trying vainly to inject a note of sanity into this conversation. “We had questions about the Scrolls. We're trying to find one. Cicero needs to know about dragons.”

 

“Find one? An Elder Scroll? Why, they are everywhere! And nowhere. In all places and times, and none of them. Part of the universe and not part. You do not have one and yet you already do.”

 

“Could you possibly narrow down the place and time a little?” Aranea sighed. Not even two human lifetimes of Azura's visions had been quite this frustrating.

 

“Tell Cicero,” Cicero whispered, eyes shining. “Tell Cicero the place and time he needs to be to have the Scroll in his hands. For he must be at the Throat of the World with one. What currents of time must Cicero ride to meet it there? Where shall Cicero lie to have it fall into his lap?”

 

“Here,” said Septimus, sounding very sure of himself for a mad old scholar-mystic who'd been on his own too long.

 

“Here?” Aranea asked, looking around. Somehow she doubted things were quite that simple.

 

“Well,” Septimus admitted. “relatively speaking. On Mundus. Tamriel. Here in Skyrim at least. The Dwemer, most subtle and crafty, they knew how to circumvent the Scroll's powers, they did, and read its secrets for themselves. Machinations they had, many machinations that could read the Scrolls, share their secrets! When the Dwemer disappeared, the Scroll remained.”

 

“So you're saying we need to look in a Dwemer ruin?” Aranea asked, heart sinking. Great. Dwemer ruins. She'd never been keen on the Dwarves as it was, and in Skyrim at least, it was made worse by knowing who did live down there now. On the other hand, if anyone could go into a Dwarven ruin and survive, it was Cicero.

 

“Maybe,” said Septimus craftily. “But one block lifts the other. A gift requires a gift. Help Septimus and he will help you, hmm?”

 

“Yes, yes,” Cicero cried. “Cicero will help the nice wizard, yes. What does Septimus need Cicero to do?”

 

Septimus smiled. “Down below the Dwemer cities, in their deepest depths, lies the blackest of caverns, famous Blackreach. Vast in its imaginings, sealed away for eons untold, since the Dwemer vanished from this world! Septimus cannot go himself, nor can you go unaided. Dwemer music is the key to break the cunning lock, to cross beneath the deathly rock!”

 

“Dwemer music??” Aranea asked, now totally bewildered. “No one knows what Dwemer music sounded like!”

 

“Deadly Cicero will cross this deathly rock,” Cicero growled. “Simply tell him the tune that must be sung and he shall sing it.”

 

“Azura, no,” Aranea muttered. The last thing anyone should be doing was encouraging Cicero to sing.

 

Septimus had already turned away, rummaging through a chest in the corner. He emerged with two things in his hand, one cube and one sphere. Both looked Dwemer, but Aranea had no idea what they could actually be.

 

“Two shapes I give you, one edged and one round,” he whispered conspiratorially, although Aranea couldn't begin to understand who he thought might be listening in. “The sphere can sing in the voice of the Dwemer. When it is near the door, it shall be the key for you. The lexicon is a most cunning contrivance! To us a mere lump of rock. To the machinations of the Dwemer, a whole library! Take it to Alftand, to the deepest dark, into Blackreach and Tower Mzark! There the Scroll is. Let the Dwemer machinations read it and carve their knowledge on this lexicon and return it to Septimus so that he may know their lost unknowns!”

 

“It shall be done,” Cicero promised, pocketing both items. After letting Septimus mark Alftand's location on their maps, he skipped along the ice path to the exit, not losing his footing once. Aranea sighed and followed. She wasn't entirely clear on what they were meant to be doing, but Cicero seemed confident, one lunatic to another.

 

He was waiting for her as she climbed back out of the cave, holding the lexicon in his hands and staring at it.

 

“Well, Cicero, I hope you understood all that because frankly I'm more confused now than ever,” said Aranea.

 

“Hmm? Oh! Yes, yes, Cicero understood well enough. We must go to Alftand and find the entrance to Blackreach, use the sphere to open it, get in, find Tower Mzark, kill everything that tries to stop us, and then use this thing on the machines there to get the Scroll. Cicero thinks so anyway. Sister... do you think Septimus Signis has been on his own too long? It's just, well, some of the things he was saying... Sister, did he sound crazy to you?”

 

Aranea had to laugh at that. The whole idea of someone so mad even Cicero thought they were a bit deranged, and yet it was so true.

 

“Yes, Cicero,” said Aranea. “Yes, he sounded completely mad from start to finish. I guess that's what happens when you spend too much time prying into secrets mortals were never meant to know.”

 

“I knew it!” Cicero grinned, doing a little dance. “Cicero didn't like to say anything though. Cicero is very compassionate to the mad, especially the ones who were without people for too long. Solitude can be very maddening, you know. Some people don't take to it very well and end up going crazy. Cicero knows the feeling, yes he does. Why, some days he's surprised he survived with his sanity intact.”

 

Aranea just about managed to keep a straight face. “So am I, Cicero. So am I.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Back to Winterhold that night, and then out again in the morning, Aranea knowing the country well enough, including how to get to the old Dwemer ruins. Not that there was a lot to see above ground, of course. Fortunately a recent expedition had found a way in. They'd found other things too, as the corpses proved. Partly the work of Dwemer toys, which although annoying, succumbed easily enough to fire magic and a few swipes from Dragonbane... and partly the dreaded Falmer. Perhaps fortunately, they didn't actually make an appearance in person until the lower levels. As it was, it was hard-going enough.

 

This latest nest were proving a problem, though. Cicero had successfully sniped one of them with his arrows, and taken down another before they'd been on them. Aranea's Atronach and lightning had helped hold them back, but it had been Cicero diving and weaving his way through, sparking katana blade going straight for their spellcaster that had done most damage. Aranea blasted the other Falmer warrior into Oblivion with a barrage of fire, and she'd almost begun to relax.

 

At least until the archer she'd not spotted fired at her and a poison-tipped arrow got past her ward, planting itself squarely in her abdomen. Aranea cried out in pain and sank to the floor, her vision blurring. She was barely aware of Cicero flying towards the archer, ending its life in a spray of blood, before running back to her side.

 

“Sister, sister, are you alright? Speak to Cicero, tell him you are not dead.”

 

“Hurts,” Aranea whispered, the poison in her veins depleting her magicka along with her strength, robbing her ability to heal herself. Not that that would have done her much good with an arrow in her gut. “Can't see properly...”

 

Two pale-skinned Imperials in jester hats danced and blurred before her, and then a potion was being held to her lips, and the contents of another poured over the wound.

 

“No no no, you stay with me, Dunmer,” she heard him say fiercely. “Cicero has seen enough brothers and sisters die in one lifetime, no more!”

 

“Can't heal,” she sobbed. “Arrow...”

 

“Cicero can deal with that, he has done this before. Oh sister, this will hurt. Cicero is so very sorry. Please, scream if you think it will help.”

 

“Can't,” Aranea gasped, fear of the white-skinned blind Falmer being drawn by the sound temporarily overcoming the pain and fear of dying. “They'll hear!”

 

Cicero drew his dagger. “Here. Bite on the hilt of this. It will bear a few teethmarks.”

 

Aranea did so, knowing then what he planned and knowing she was going to scream the place down otherwise. She gripped a nearby pipe, clinging on as Cicero took hold of the arrow.

 

When he wrenched it out with one sharp movement, it wasn't as bad as Aranea had thought, it was worse, far worse and if she'd not been biting down on his dagger hilt, she'd have shrieked so loud they'd have heard her in Winterhold. As it was, she was sobbing helplessly as Cicero retrieved his dagger.

 

“Cicero is sorry,” she heard him whisper, hands finding the wound again.

 

“I hate you,” Aranea whispered through the tears.

 

“I know,” he replied gently. “It is alright. Sister, don't move, you're bleeding. Let us hope you taught Cicero well.”

 

Hands on her stomach, her blood pouring over them and he didn't seem to notice or care, just concentrated hard. Then the familiar warmth of Restoration magic flowed into her, taking the pain with it, and she closed her eyes.

 

Finally, Cicero took his hands away, stroking her upper arm.

 

“Sister? It is all I can do. I have a few healing potions left and some magicka ones too if you need them.”

 

Aranea took a magicka potion off him, drinking the contents and feeling her strength return. Flexing her fingers, she cast her own healing magic, feeling the last of the poison leave her system. At length she was done, and while her Shrouded Robes were covered in blood, at least she lived to wear them.

 

“Thank you,” she said, squeezing his hand. Cicero blushed a little.

 

“It was nothing. Cicero could hardly leave his sister to die, could he? Not in this horrible place with the nasty machines and those pale demons.”

 

“Falmer,” said Aranea. “They're Falmer. Used to be the native Snow Elves but... not any more.” She winced as she sat upright, still weak from the blood loss and aching all over.

 

“Careful, careful now,” said Cicero gently. “Is sister Aranea going to be alright to continue? There was one of those Dwemer elevators just back there, it probably goes back to the surface. Cicero would think no less of you if you wished to go back. He can carry on alone if need be.”

 

“Not likely,” said Aranea, holding on to him as she got to her feet. “Delphine would never forgive me if I abandoned you now. I'm afraid you are stuck with me... brother.”

 

She rarely if ever called him that. Cicero felt his ears burn and swiftly looked away.

 

“Still, Cicero will do what he should have done in the first place and called for help,” said Cicero, hand outstretched to cast. Aranea winced as Lucien materialised. Why did former lovers always seem to turn up when one looked one's worst?

 

“Keeper?” Lucien asked, before taking in Aranea's pale and bloodied state. “Sweet Sithis, what happened to you?”

 

“Falmer arrow,” said Aranea tersely. “Could we keep moving perhaps? Sooner we get to this Blackreach place the better.”

 

Lucien looked about, taking in the grey-gold stone and pipework surrounding them. “A Dwemer ruin. Impressive. An entire race, extinct. Not even I can take credit for that. Who are we hunting down here?”

 

“An Elder Scroll,” said Cicero. Lucien blinked twice, before turning to Aranea for confirmation. Aranea nodded.

 

“It's true. Cicero needs to read an Elder Scroll so he can find out how to defeat Alduin.”

 

“What??? Are we mercenaries for hire now? Or a branch of the Thieves Guild? This is not what the Dark Brotherhood are meant to be doing!” Lucien looked most put out, and his ire was focused on Cicero.

 

“Yes, but Cicero is Dragonborn,” said Cicero, staring back equally sternly. “And Lucien is bound to Cicero so must do what he's told. So come with us, help us find this Scroll and then we can all go home to where lovely Delphine is waiting.” Without waiting for an answer, Cicero moved on, dropping into a crouch with his bow at the ready.

 

“He's quite insane,” said Lucien, as if this hadn't been readily apparent for some time.

 

“Yes, but I'm rather fond of him regardless,” said Aranea. “Although I think he may have just saved my life, so perhaps I'm a little biased.”

 

“I shall trust your judgement,” said Lucien, still looking dubious but falling into step behind Cicero anyway. “At least I am already dead and cannot die again.”

 

Aranea could only wish she could say the same. The journey wasn't likely to get any less dangerous and they had a long way to go.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

She wasn't wrong. They'd faced Falmer, their Chaurus pets, more Dwemer abominations and traps, and at the last, a giant Dwarven Centurion that by common consent, Lucien had actually tackled while arrows and magic from Cicero and Aranea had done the rest. In the end, it had fallen, Cicero's Fire Breath weakening it enough for Lucien's dagger to sever something vital and Aranea's lightning bolts to fry its internal wiring and send it crashing to the floor. Next had been the last two members of the doomed expedition, who'd made the mistake of attacking on sight. Neither had lived to regret it.

 

Behind the two corpses was an elevator to the surface, and Aranea could almost feel it calling out to her, beckoning her back to cool breezes and clean air and the open sky above her. Alas, they were still only halfway down.

 

Cicero had the attunement sphere in his hands, putting it to his ear and shaking it.

 

“Sister, I can't hear anything. Isn't it meant to be singing when we approach the gate?”

 

Aranea couldn't hear anything either. She hoped that Septimus hadn't sent them both here on a wild goose chase, for his sake as much as theirs. Cicero did not take well to being messed about with.

 

“You would not,” said Lucien. “Its pitch is beyond that of mortal ears. I however can hear it. A sharp and brutal melody, a constant and insistent pulsing. It gets more so when you are by that stand in the middle.”

 

Cicero skipped over, poking at the controls, sphere in one hand, the other engaged in pressing buttons. They were in luck. Seconds later, Cicero's prodding had done something, panels sliding and descending as they changed into a staircase leading down to this Blackreach.

 

“So. This is it then,” said Aranea. “Find this Elder Scroll or die trying.”

 

She felt Cicero's hand slip into hers, gently squeezing her fingers. “Sister, you do not have to come. Take the elevator home. Cicero and Lucien can go on alone. You are not the Dovahkiin. This is not your fight.”

 

Aranea was almost tempted but the thought of arriving home without Cicero and facing Delphine on her own did not appeal. That and Lucien chose that moment to open his mouth.

 

“Yes, Aranea, by all means go. Let the real assassins handle this one.”

 

Aranea's eyes narrowed, glittering as coldly as red eyes could. Cicero tightened his grip on her hand.

 

“Er... now now, sister, no need to do anything rash, I'm sure Lucien didn't mean that to sound quite like it did...” He was looking pleadingly at the ghost, who appeared utterly unrepentant.

 

“We're going,” said Aranea firmly. “And if Lucien makes any more smart remarks, I shall personally burn his incorporeal flesh and feed him to the Falmer. Are we clear?”

 

“Yes yes, perfectly, Sister Aranea is most compassionate and merciful,” said Cicero, glaring at Lucien as he made for her to go first. Aranea took a deep breath and made her way down the steps. Cicero lingered behind, shoving Lucien in the ribs.

 

“What was that for??” he hissed. “Aranea's as good an assassin as any of us! She's taken one dangerous contract on her own, and recruited the Butcher of Windhelm to join us on her own initiative! Lucien, dear sweet Lucien, Cicero is very fond of you, but next time you make insulting remarks to his sisters, they will take you apart and Cicero will let them.”

 

“I shall look forward to it,” Lucien murmured, eyes alive with glee. “But brother, did you not see her wavering? Not see her look at the route to the surface with hope and sorrow mingled? Oh, she might have stayed anyway, but we don't need the faint-hearted on this little excursion. So I appealed to her pride, and look, there she is leading the way. My Aranea, in all her fiery glory.”

 

“You're a bad bad man,” Cicero scolded. “And she's not your Aranea either.” _Certainly not since you told her not to worry her pretty little head about Brotherhood business and consequently got yourself killed._

 

“Brothers,” and Aranea's voice was colder than the grave, “are you following or am I to fetch this Scroll on my own? I don't need the faint-hearted on this little excursion, after all.”

 

Cicero bit back a giggle at the murderous expression on Lucien's face.

 

“Damn that Elven hearing,” he muttered.

 

“Coming, sister!” Cicero cooed, taking the steps two at a time. “Cicero is always eager, you know that!”

 

Aranea was waiting at the foot of the stairs, arms folded and a half-smile on her face.

 

“Oh Cicero, you I never doubted for a second.” Aranea glanced up as Lucien emerged, determinedly looking anywhere but at her. “Well now, Blackreach awaits. Are we all ready?”

 

“Yes sister!” Cicero cried, bouncing up and down and clapping his hands. Lucien just shrugged.

 

“I cannot die again, Aranea. Lead the way, sister.”

 

It would do, Aranea supposed. Opening the door, she led the way into Blackreach.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Blackreach proved to be as terrible and beautiful as the smile on a vampire's face. Glowing mushrooms dominated the rolling black soil, and a thousand luminous plants and rocks lit the roof. Dwemer lighting still worked too and all in all it would have looked quite nice had it not been for the Falmer.

 

Fierce fighting on the roads of Blackreach followed, pressing onwards for what felt like hours, searching endlessly for a tower. At long last, Cicero finally saw it.

 

“There it is,” he growled, too exhausted to even consider shrieking and bouncing like usual.

 

“Thank Azura,” said Aranea, stumbling after him in the gloom. Lucien followed close behind, even he not deigning to make any sarcastic comments this time. He could see how tired they both were, and Aranea wasn't properly recovered from her injury either.

 

Cicero danced across the bridge leading to the tower, the sight of their target giving his tired body a new lease of energy. Lucien felt their bonding call to him, summoning him after the Keeper, but he held back. Aranea was stumbling now, the poison clearly not purged from her body yet. Maybe a decent meal and a good night's sleep would help... but she'd not slept in nearly thirty hours now. Nor had Cicero of course, but he'd not been hit with a poisoned arrow in the gut, and he was such a ball of frantic nervous energy normally that slowing down only made him operate at the same speed as everyone else.

 

“You don't need to babysit me,” Aranea growled. “I'm quite capable.”

 

“Yes you are,” said Lucien. “At full strength. Are you on two-thirds or three-quarters of your usual magicka at the moment?”

 

“Shut up,” was all Aranea said. Then the sensation of the ground shaking brought all of them to a halt. Cicero unshouldered his bow, ready to take aim at this new threat.

 

The ground trembled again, and the silhouette of a giant lumbered into view. Normally none of them would have worried as giants rarely attacked without provocation – but this one was lost and confused and their mere presence was provocation enough. Roaring, it ran towards them, swinging that club that could kill you with one hit. Aranea summoned an Atronach and cast her armour and then realised that her magicka was not regenerating like it should and she had very little in reserve. She pulled the last of her energy together and made for the bridge, but the giant was bearing down on her fast.

 

“Get her out of here,” said Lucien, drawing his dagger. Aranea realised too late what he was going to do and she cried his name, but Cicero was there, one arm around her waist as he pulled her arm around his shoulders.

 

“I'll summon him back,” Cicero promised her. “I can't bring Aranea back from the dead. I'm not Eola. Not the Butcher either.”

 

“He's not so good at that himself,” said Aranea, clinging on to Cicero and wincing as her abdomen throbbed. She hoped the wound didn't decide to re-open. Cicero had done what he could but he was no master. She'd done what she could, but she was weakened.

 

“Cicero shall be sure to tell him you are impugning his abilities. He'll be so thrilled,” said Cicero calmly, ushering her towards the door. Behind them, Lucien was weaving around the giant's legs, dodging the club as his dagger sliced through tendons.

 

“No need, I've seen him at work,” Aranea said, gritting her teeth.

 

“Lucky!” Cicero laughed, opening the door to the tower and shoving her inside. He turned in the doorway, drawing his own dagger and finally looking to see how Lucien was doing. He was just in time to see Lucien stagger back and then crumble as the club smacked into him.

 

“Lucien,” Cicero whispered, a lump in his throat that even knowing he could resummon him any time couldn't assuage.

 

“Cicero,” he heard Aranea call. Closing the door, he promptly barricaded it against further entry before turning to where Aranea had slumped to the floor, her head in her hands.

 

“Oh sister,” Cicero breathed, putting an arm around her. “Sister, you should have gone back when Cicero said. Look at you, you look exhausted.”

 

Aranea didn't even feel like arguing. The corridor opened into a hallway with an abandoned campsite in it. Someone had been here once and not too long ago from the look of it. There was even a camp fire with bedrolls arranged round it.

 

“Cicero, please, could I sleep?” Aranea whispered piteously, grateful that at least Lucien was not here to see her like this.

 

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Cicero softly. “Here, drink some more healing potions, that's better. Now arm around me again, that's right, walk with me.”

 

Aranea clung on to him, feeling bizarrely grateful that he of all people was there. He would never have been her first choice for this trip and she was certain she wasn't his either. And yet right now, she was very glad of his presence. When he wasn't capering about the place, there was a quiet strength to him, a calm reassurance that all would be well, or that at the very least it had better be, or stabbings would ensue.

 

She sank onto the nearest bedroll, feeling exhaustion overcome her.

 

“I could sleep for a week,” she whispered. Cicero rubbed her back before holding the bedroll open for her to snuggle into. It was covered in dust and smelt musty but it was a bed and Aranea was too tired to care about anything else.

 

“Cicero can't give you that long,” he said gently. “But dear Aranea can sleep for a few hours at least. Does my dear sister want Cicero to stay with her, or should he explore, try to find the scroll?”

 

No answer.

 

“Aranea?” Still nothing. Cicero looked down and realised she'd already fallen asleep. He smiled to himself. The poor woman must be exhausted. He made a brief check on her temperature to make sure she wasn't feverish. Typical Dunmer high temperature of course, but nothing other than that. He'd stay nearby for a while, of course, just to make sure the building was secure and not infested with Falmer or Dwemer automatons. Then maybe he could do a little exploring...

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Aranea's eyes fluttered awake. It wasn't her usual bed back at the Sanctuary, but she'd spent centuries sleeping in a bedroll at the Shrine of Azura in all weathers. She was warm and dry and that was something.

 

Of course, what she wasn't used to was having someone else curled up at her back. A very firm, very male someone else with an arm draped over her.

 

“Cal?” she gasped, eyes flying open as she twisted around, something that surely wasn't hope fluttering in her heart.

 

“Sorry,” Cicero grinned, propping himself up. “It is only humble Cicero. But he shall tell the Butcher that when sweet Aranea woke up, his name was the first on her lips.”

 

“You shall do no such thing,” Aranea glared at him, already feeling her magicka back at full strength and ready to burn things. “May I ask why you're cuddling me??”

 

Cicero pouted. “Cicero was lonely. And Aranea is nice and warm. Cicero meant no harm, he swears.” It was to no avail. Aranea had shoved him away, sending him sprawling.

 

“Sithis take me, not again,” Aranea growled. “I had enough of this last time. Yes, Dunmer have higher core body temperatures than humans. It's not something for you all to fetishize!”

 

“Cicero doesn't... last time?” Cicero cocked his head to one side. “What happened last time? Was it saucy? Please tell poor Cicero, he hears not nearly enough juicy gossip.”

 

“Don't lie to me, Eola tells you everything she hears,” said Aranea, deciding now was a good time to change the subject. “Have you been here all the time I've been asleep or did you find anything worth sharing?”

 

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” said Cicero with a shrug. “A few interesting books. Some potions. A few bits of gold and jewels. A strange Dwemer contraption with many shiny buttons. The elevator home. Oh, and an Elder Scroll.” Sly grin in place, Cicero proudly produced the gleaming cylinder they'd been after.

 

“You found it,” Aranea gasped. “Praise Azura, you actually found it!”

 

Cicero nodded, still grinning. “It was hidden inside this Dwarven machine. Cicero put dear Septimus' Lexicon into the machine and kept on pressing buttons until it yielded fruit. Easy really.”

 

For him, perhaps. Aranea could only thank the gods for sending a Dragonborn with a fascination for shiny things and enough persistence to not stop until the machine did what it was told.

 

“You said there was an elevator here.”

 

“That's right,” said Cicero. “Does dear Aranea long for the stars above her again?”

 

“Yes,” she said, wanting to go home and no longer caring who knew it. “Let's get out of here.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

To both their astonishment, the elevator led out on to a high mountainside, not in Winterhold's icy reaches, but overlooking the Giant's Gap, the wide valley between the two central mountain ranges of Skyrim, Dawnstar's Tower of the Dawn far to the north, Whiterun's Dragonsreach to the south and the Throat of the World towering over all.

 

“How big is Blackreach?” Aranea whispered, feeling ill at the thought of the Dwemer underworld being so close to the centre of Skyrim.

 

“It didn't seem that huge underground,” said Cicero faintly. No sun in the sky to show what the time was had made it very easy to lose track. “But look on the bright side, sister. We're nearer home than we thought!”

 

“We are,” said Aranea, loving the feeling of the wind on her skin again. “Come on, let's get to Whiterun. I have enough to buy us both dinner. Then a bath. Azura be praised, a bath.”

 

“Bath!” Cicero cried, delighted at the prospect. On his own in Cheydinhal, a bath had been merely something to break the monotony and keep himself presentable for Mother. Now he had siblings and friends and a Listener to impress, they were a positive joy. He didn't stop dancing all the way to Whiterun.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A new day dawned and saw Aranea and Cicero finally leave Whiterun. They'd bathed, eaten, rested, slept for nearly fifteen hours, had Aranea seen by a proper healer at the Temple of Kynareth, and were finally ready to be on their way. Cicero had shaved, brushed his hair out and mended both his armour and Aranea's Shrouded robes while she'd been bathing. Had Delphine seen him, she'd have dragged him off to bed on the spot, and as it was, more than a few women and even one or two of the men were sending admiring glances his way. Aranea had merely looked him over, told him he scrubbed up nicely, thanked him for seeing to her clothes as well and turned her attention back to the book she'd been reading. Cicero didn't know whether to be annoyed or just grateful not to have deal with the attention.

 

“No wonder Aranea has two suitors and not chosen either,” Cicero said, slicing open a bread roll and adding some bacon. “Tell me, sister, do you greet your lovers with such enthusiasm?”

 

“No,” said Aranea, turning a weak Flames spell on to her cheese sandwich, much to the horror of some Nords at the next table. “You however are not one of my lovers, nor ever likely to be so.”

 

“I should hope not,” said Cicero with a shudder. “Cicero does not think he would cope with all the suitors constantly demanding your attention. Not to mention he does not think Lucien would be pleased.”

 

“Why, does he get jealous seeing you with other people?” Aranea shot back. “Sithis help him when he meets Delphine. You have told your new man about the Listener, I take it?”

 

Cicero flushed bright red, the tip of his ears scarlet. “Cicero does not...! It is not... stop with your sly insinuations! You are worse than Eola!”

 

“You started it,” said Aranea calmly. “Not that I would blame you if you did have a thing for him. He's still rather attractive for a dead man.”

 

“Cicero would never – could never – Cicero is loyal!” Cicero cried, attracting the attention of half the inn. Noticing their stares, he hunched down, flipping his collar up and pulling his hat lower. “Cicero would never betray sweet Delphine like that,” he whispered.

 

“I'm sure you wouldn't either,” said Aranea, deciding her toasted cheese sandwich was cool enough to eat by now. “I'm sure you would never lie awake at night pleasuring yourself while imagining Lucien forcing you to your knees and making you suck him. I'm very sure that would never happen, and I'm equally sure that if Delphine were to find out about these terrible fantasies you don't have, she would be heartbroken and in no way demand you describe them in lurid detail as punishment then make you summon Lucien and act them out.”

 

“How dare – Delphine isn't – would never -” Cicero spluttered, almost purple and unable to finish the sentence. Aranea ignored him, eating her sandwich and pointedly returning to the _Clan Words of Mother Ahnissi_.

 

“Cicero shall be in the bedroom,” Cicero finally said, grabbing his snowberry juice and his half-eaten sandwich and fleeing up the stairs. Aranea grinned and refilled her goblet. Breakfast in peace achieved. It was very strange how love could blind someone so – despite all evidence to the contrary, Cicero seemed to be under the impression that Delphine was some pure and innocent goddess who was above such base and vulgar things such as the need to get some action. Rubbish of course – she was mortal like anyone else. In fact, right now she was probably half way through Aranea's collected volumes of _The Lusty Bosmer Apprentice._ It wasn't as well-known as its more famous Argonian counterpart, but the tales of an eager to please young apprentice wizard and his stern but loving Altmer tutor had their share of admirers all over Morrowind. Judging from the raised eyebrow as Delphine had flicked through the first volume, before tucking it under her arm and politely asking if Aranea had any of the others in the series, they'd gained another in the Reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Cicero heads off to learn Dragonrend but gets a little more than he bargained for when the World-Eater shows up. Meanwhile Delphine's missing Cicero, but when he finally gets home, she's not quite so sure about his new friend...


	21. Alduin's Bane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Elder Scroll retrieved, Cicero's ready to go and learn Dragonrend, but he gets a little more than he bargained for. Meanwhile, Delphine's very pleased to have Cicero back, but is a little discomfited by his new friend, and the next step in Operation: Kill Alduin, Save The World, is going to test even Delphine's skills.

With breakfast done, Cicero had finally emerged from the room, a little flustered and dishevelled still and pointedly refusing to even discuss the subject of Lucien Lachance, much less resummon him. They'd settled their bill at the Bannered Mare and set off... only for Cicero to flag down the carriage driver parked outside the city.

 

“What are you doing?” Aranea asked. “I thought we were going to read the Scroll on top of the Throat? The carriages don't go to Ivarstead.”

 

“No, but they go to Winterhold,” said Cicero. He produced the Lexicon that Septimus had given them, now engraved with runes from the Dwemer machine. “Sister, please, take this back to the old man. Cicero has no time, he has a Shout to learn. But you do not need to be there for that. You could do this for Cicero.” He looked hopefully up at her, holding the Lexicon out to her.

 

“Oh. You mean you were actually intending to return it.” Aranea regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Cicero glared at her, hands on his hips.

 

“Of course Cicero intended to return it! Cicero promised! And Cicero keeps his promises. Besides,” and here sadness filled Cicero's eyes, “he's all alone. Has been for years with no one to talk to. We can hardly just leave him there waiting, never knowing what became of us. Waiting for a voice that never came... no, no, Cicero will not have it! You must take it back.” He thrust the Lexicon at her, glaring. Aranea sighed. Cicero's empathy wasn't the most highly developed sense he had, but of course when it came to lonely old madmen, it probably functioned quite well.

 

“Fine, I'll do it,” Aranea sighed, pocketing the Lexicon. She braced herself for the inevitable bonecrushing hug, and Cicero did not disappoint.

 

“Thank you thank you thank you!” Cicero cried, head on her shoulder as he cuddled her tightly.

 

“Quite alright,” said Aranea awkwardly, the hug having gone on for approximately thirty seconds longer than she was comfortable with already, and showing no sign of stopping any time soon. Really, was all this physical contact completely necessary? “Cicero, you can let me go now. If I'm to take this back to him, I need to get on the carriage.”

 

Cicero let her go, bouncing up and down and waving her off. She paid the driver and turned to look at him before getting on the carriage.

 

“Cicero, you will be alright on your own, won't you? You won't get lonely or unhappy or anything?”

 

“Cicero will be fine,” he replied, smiling at her, something approaching a genuine smile, like normal people had. It wasn't something she was used to seeing on him, except now and then when he was looking at Delphine. “Cicero can do without company for a time when he knows his family are waiting for him. But he thanks his sister for caring enough to ask. Not many do.”

 

It was the rest of the world Aranea was more worried about, if she was honest. But all the same, it was nice to see Cicero healing to the point where being sent out on his own didn't cause clinginess, a nervous breakdown or paranoid fussing that something would go horribly wrong in his absence. While she didn't think he'd ever entirely regain his lost sanity, he was definitely doing better these days.

 

Cicero kept waving until the carriage was out of sight, before dropping the manic act and turning for Riverwood. Once away from Whiterun, he summoned Lucien back.

 

“Keeper?” Lucien asked. He noticed the change in scenery first, and then that Aranea wasn't there.

 

“How long has it been?” he asked, alarmed. “Cicero, where is your sister?”

 

“Not dead,” said Cicero, feeling a little irked at the small smile of relief on Lucien's face. “She's on her way to Winterhold. We're off to the Throat of the World. Cicero must read the Scroll there and learn a Shout.”

 

“A Shout? Ah yes, this... dragon magic you were talking about.” Lucien still didn't really understand how this whole Dragonborn business actually worked, but between Cicero's ramblings and a quiet chat with Aranea, he'd gathered the gist of it. “So this... Shout. What does it do?”

 

“It will knock dragons from the sky,” said Cicero dramatically. “And then Cicero shall find Alduin the King of the Dragons, and he shall use the Shout on him and kill him in the name of Sithis. Will Lucien help?”

 

“I have never killed a dragon before,” Lucien murmured, fingering his dagger hilt, smile spreading across his face. “It shall be a most interesting experience. Keeper, you have my assistance and my thanks.”

 

Cicero blushed, staring at his feet. “Oh the honour is all Cicero's,” he said, embarrassed at Lucien's gratitude to poor, undeserving Cicero. Then something else occurred to him – the other reason he'd sent Aranea away.

 

“Lucien, my brother, listen. There is something else I must tell you. At the top of the Throat lives another dragon. He's called Paarthurnax.”

 

“Ah,” said Lucien. “And you wish him killed too. Of course, Cicero, you do not even need to ask.”

 

“NO!” Cicero cried, appalled. Lucien actually turned to him in surprise, dark eyes staring at him in amazement from underneath the cowl. Normally those eyes would have halted Cicero in a second, but right now the little jester was too wound-up to care.

 

“Paarthurnax is Cicero's friend!” Cicero wailed. “His brother! The contract is only on Alduin, not Paarthurnax. Kind and wise Paarthurnax mustn't die!”

 

“I see,” said Lucien, frowning. “Very well, Keeper, if you say so. Sithis cares little about dragons and their souls never come to the Void. If this Paarthurnax is willing to help us, then I will spare my blade.”

 

“There is more,” said Cicero, wringing his hands and capering about anxiously. “You must not mention he is there, not to anyone. He is a dragon, he has enemies, his kind are not well-liked. He just wishes to live out his remaining days in peace on his mountain. It would be best if no one knew he is up there. No one. Not even the Listener.”

 

Lucien was now watching him very shrewdly. No one got to be a Speaker without knowing how to read people very very well. Cicero waited with bated breath, feeling the tension rise. At length, Lucien finally nodded and Cicero could have collapsed with relief.

 

“Thank you!” he cried, dancing around the ghostly assassin, taking Lucien's hands in his own. There was a bit of give there but enough solidity for Cicero hold on to. “Thank you thank you thank you! Dear Lucien is too kind to poor, humble Cicero!”

 

“I shall keep your secret, Keeper,” said Lucien, lips curling. “If there is no contract out against him then he need fear no harm from me. But tell me. Should this Listener Delphine of yours, your own beloved, find out this dragon lives and order you to kill him, what will you do then?”

 

Cicero fell silent, laughter dying on his lips as Lucien's hands fell from his. In the back of his head, he heard something like a dragon roaring and the golden cage that kept the dragons within in check rattled, light flaring up for the briefest instant before fading away.

 

“Cicero is loyal and Cicero is obedient,” he heard himself saying. “Cicero is a good son and devoted brother. Cicero... if it comes to it, Cicero will obey...” The cage rang out again as Cicero's inner dragon howled in protest. Cicero grimaced, shutting his eyes until it stopped. He opened them to see Lucien looking at him knowingly.

 

“Cicero keeps the Tenets,” said Cicero harshly. “Cicero is loyal. Cicero will do what must be done... but only if it actually must be.” Without another look at Lucien, he turned and strode off down the road towards Riverwood.

 

“Well reasoned,” Lucien murmured, no choice but to follow behind. He'd keep the fool's secret, of course. As secrets went, it wasn't the worst he'd heard, and this Cicero was no Bellamont in waiting, of that Lucien was sure. All the same, the internal politics of the Brotherhood was the one thing he'd not missed and he dearly hoped the little jester was never put to the test on this.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The sky cracked and boiled, boulders raining from above as lightning arced across the clouds and the wind howled in torment. Above, brother fought brother as Paarthurnax wheeled to avoid Alduin's dragon fire and Alduin lashed out with both Thu'um and claw at Paarthurnax.

 

On the ground, Cicero dived and dodged for cover, trying to get a clear shot at Alduin. Which would be so much easier if the dragon would just _stay still_.

 

“Keeper, you did not tell me we would have to fight the Dragon King today!” Lucien seethed, clutching his dagger and following in Cicero's wake.

 

“I didn't know he'd be here!” Cicero hissed. “How was poor, foolish Cicero supposed to know Alduin could sense the Elder Scroll being read?”

 

“Well, he's here!” snapped Lucien. “And as I have neither a bow nor magic at my disposal, you are going to have to get him on the ground yourself!”

 

Right, yes, as if it was that simple. As if Cicero had not tried Dragonrend only a minute ago only to have Alduin dodge it at the last minute. As if the same problem had not happened with every arrow Cicero had fired. Really, it was too unfair. Cicero was the one who wore opponents down by not being there whenever they tried to land blows. Other people weren't allowed to do that! The only saving grace was that he had not actually broken the universe by reading the Elder Scroll, but given that a world-eating dragon that could _break the sky_ had turned up instead, it wasn't a lot of consolation.

 

Fortunately for Cicero, Alduin's vanity had always been his biggest weakness.

 

“Run and hide, little Dovahkiin,” Alduin growled, hovering above Cicero. “Makes no difference. I shall find you and devour you in the end. YOL TOOR SHUL!”

 

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!” Cicero shouted back, preferring not to waste time talking when he could be killing. He braced himself for the fireball, shielding his face to let his armour take the brunt of the flames. Thank Sithis and Sapphire, the flame-resistance held and Cicero was barely singed.

 

Alduin was not so lucky. Dragonrend had taken hold and brought the huge dragon crashing to the ground.

 

“Dovahkiin,” Alduin growled. “Do you think this has not been used on me before? It did not help Gormlaith Golden-Hilt. It will not help you.”

 

Having just seen the woman's death at Alduin's fangs via the Scroll, Cicero didn't really need telling that Dragonrend would only do so much. That was fine though. Cicero had only been working with Shouts for two months now. He'd been working with blades all his life and unlike poor Gormlaith, he wasn't weighed down by a ton of steel armour either.

 

To Alduin's left, Lucien ran in, slashing at Alduin's wing with his dagger, doing enough damage to ensure Alduin didn't leave any time soon. Alduin turned to swipe at Lucien, sending the assassin staggering back and crumbling into ectoplasm, but that was all Cicero needed. With Alduin looking away, Cicero cartwheeled forward, leaping into the air, off-hand clutching Alduin's horns while he set to work with Dragonbane, stabbing and slashing and carving pretty patterns while the World-Eater raged.

 

Alduin thrashed wildly, trying to buck the annoying _joor_ with the stupid hat off his head, to no avail. Cicero was light and nimble and very good at keeping his balance, dancing with Alduin and somehow managing to keep his footing. He wasn't trying to bludgeon a dragon to death with a greatsword either. Dragonbane slashed through the air, slicing through scales, Alduin screaming at the shock that rippled through him with every strike. Cicero grinned, loving every minute. This was the sort of thing he'd been born for. Trained for. Lived for.

 

Alduin roared, flipping his head back in a vain attempt to shake Cicero free. Even Cicero couldn't keep his feet on the dragon at a ninety degree tilt, but he kept his grip and it also meant that he no longer needed to stretching very far to get at the underside of Alduin's mouth. With one fluid motion, he sliced Dragonbane across the roof of Alduin's mouth, slicing through palate and gum and leaving the dragon bleeding. Alduin howled in pain and twisted in an attempt to crush Cicero on the ground. Cicero let go and rolled free, drawing Dragonbane for another strike.

 

Alduin didn't give him the chance. Wings beating, Alduin hauled himself into the sky, keeping himself airborne with an effort.

 

“You are strong, Dovahkiin,” Alduin growled. “I shall grant you the privilege of living... for now. We shall meet again and when we do... the _krongrah_ shall not be yours.”

 

He whirled away and was gone, trailing blood, definitely listing to one side and clearly struggling to keep height.

 

“GET BACK HERE!!!” Cicero shouted after him. “I HAVEN'T FINISHED YET! COME BACK AT ONCE AND LET ME KILL YOU! DON'T YOU FLY AWAY FROM ME, ALDUIN!!”

 

It was to no avail. Alduin was out of reach. Cicero swore loudly and kicked viciously at the snow, sheathing Dragonbane with somewhat unnecessary force.

 

Behind him, Paarthurnax landed, the ground shaking with the impact. Cicero ignored him, still sulking about Alduin getting away.

 

“Dovahkiin. Zii-Zah-Ro. Turn and face me.”

 

Cicero scowled, still staring after Alduin, now a speck on the horizon. Paarthurnax sighed.

 

“Zii-Zah-Ro. _Tinvaak_ with me. This sulking does not become you.”

 

Still nothing. Paarthurnax gave in.

 

“ZII-ZAH-RO!” Cicero leapt about a foot in the air and came crashing down in the snow, only just preventing his hat from falling off.

 

“Do not do that!” Cicero cried, scrabbling to his feet and brushing the snow off. “Cicero heard you the first time.”

 

“Then it would be well to answer the first time,” Paarthurnax growled. “Yes, Alduin fled. No, you did not kill him this day. But he did not kill you either. Do not be downhearted, my _zeymah_. You were winning that fight.”

 

“It hardly matters if Alduin is not dead!” Cicero snapped, voice shrill. “Paarthurnax, Cicero is a Vul Zeymah, we are not paid to fight and nearly win. We are paid to kill. And Alduin is _not dead_. Cicero has failed! Cicero never fails! He might not always get a bonus, but he always gets his quarry!”

 

“Yes, and you will do so with Alduin as well, Kul of the Monahvulon.” Paarthurnax nudged Cicero gently. “I have no doubt you will meet him again, and I have no doubt you will not grow weaker in the mean time. You have done well, Zii-Zah-Ro. You fought the World-Eater, Alduin himself, and you forced him to flee, injured. This has not happened before, Dovahkiin. Always he has triumphed in the past. This time... this time you drove him from the field of battle. It is a mighty feat, Dovahkiin. Something to be proud of.”

 

“Cicero would be prouder if Alduin were dead,” Cicero muttered. He finally looked up at Paarthurnax. “Paarthurnax is proud of his _mal zeymah_?”

 

A low rumble in Paarthurnax's throat indicated that this was so. “Paarthurnax is very proud of his _krilot zeymah_. My valiant brother.”

 

“Valiant? Me?” No one had ever called him that before. “Cicero does not know what to say,” he whispered. Stepping forward, he rested his head against the dragon's jawbone, stroking Paarthurnax's muzzle. It was the nearest he could get to a hug.

 

“Then say nothing,” said Paarthurnax gently. “Instead, think how you are going to hunt Alduin down and finish the job.”

 

“That won't be easy,” Cicero sighed. Paarthurnax laid his head down on one claw and brought the other nearer for Cicero to sit on while he snuggled in to Paarthurnax. He'd not expected a Dovahkiin who was quite this physical in his affections. Still, it was rather endearing.

 

“But not impossible,” said Paarthurnax. “First, find out where he has gone.”

 

“And does Paarthurnax know where he's gone?” Cicero asked, not expecting a positive answer for a second. He was not disappointed.

 

“Sovngarde,” came the response.

 

“Sovngarde,” Cicero repeated. “Of course. The place drunken Nord warriors go to die and carry on being drunken Nord warriors for all eternity. Cicero can just see Alduin cozying up to Ysgramor and friends. How is Cicero meant to follow him there, hmm? Challenge all the Companions to a fight and let them kill him?”

 

Paarthurnax laughed. “Niid, Dovahkiin. You do not have to die to follow him there. He has a portal to Sovngarde, which he travels through to feast on the _sille dilon_ , the souls of the dead. There he will be resting, gathering his strength until he is ready to return. You will need to find this portal and follow him through it.”

 

Well. That didn't sound so bad after all. It would be something to impress the Aretino boy with in any event. Might even impress Eola.

 

“So where is this portal then?” Cicero asked.

 

“I do not know, Zii-Zah-Ro,” Paarthurnax admitted. “He moved the portal after I abandoned his cause. Where it is now, few can tell. But his allies will know. Capture a dovah who knows and interrogate him.”

 

“Capture and interrogate a hostile dragon,” said Cicero, sighing. “Paarthurnax, my _zeymah_ , Cicero loves you dearly but why, whenever I visit, do you always give me an impossible task to carry out?”

 

“This is the second time we have ever met, Zii-Zah-Ro,” said Paarthurnax. “And you managed the last one. This one is not even impossible. It has been done before.”

 

“Before? How? Who? Where?” Cicero gasped, amazed that someone had managed this and survived.

 

“You know the tale of Numinex and King Olaf? No, you are not of the Bronne, you may not. It is based on a true story, Zii-Zah-Ro. A tale of an ancient Nord King who bested a dragon and held him captive in his palace. A palace that still stands, not too far from here. Dragonsreach. Lure one there and hold them captive again.”

 

“Ooooh,” Cicero breathed, mind already alive with the possibilities. “Cicero knows Dragonsreach! Yes, yes, we could do that! Of course Cicero does not know exactly how. But that is all right, that is why Cicero has his Delphine. He will tell her all this and she will think of a plan. She always does. She's very smart like that. Cicero wishes he had a mind like hers.”

 

“Yours works well enough, Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax said. “You likely have many strengths she does not. Do not compare yourself to others, Zii-Zah-Ro. You are who you are.”

 

“Cicero is who he is,” said Cicero, getting up and smoothing the creases out of his armour, lethal grin firmly back in place. “And Cicero is a Dark Brotherhood assassin with a job to do.”

 

Bidding Paarthurnax goodbye, he made his way back down the mountain. He could hardly wait to hear what Delphine thought of this idea. He had no idea how they'd do it, but it would be fun finding out.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Delphine had come back to Sky Haven Temple, feeling prison bars fall around her and a weight in her heart. Back here. Back in what should be the heart of the Blades and now a murderer's mansion. All her doing. All her fault. Building a home for a Dragonborn whose allegiances were firmly for the night. Keeping her sweetheart happy even as she had others' sweethearts slaughtered in the street. Or the tavern. Or their beds. Or wherever else was most convenient.

 

_I did all this for him and he's not even here._ Delphine felt irrationally angry at the thought even though she'd sent him away in the first place. She missed his laughter. Missed the attention. Missed the little menial tasks all done for her before she even realised they needed doing. Clothes cleaned and mended, the bed changed, the room swept, flowers artfully arranged around the place to make it look nice. She'd never asked him to do any of that, he'd just taken it upon himself without anything being discussed. Apparently a Listener should not trouble herself with such tasks, and he'd been fiercely resistant to the idea of stopping.

 

Calixto and Sapphire had returned before her, and while she'd paid them and congratulated them, part of her was dying inside. Aventus had hugged her and enthused about how he could now sneak up on some of the Forsworn without being seen and how Calixto had been teaching him anatomy using a dead bandit's corpse and where to best inflict stab wounds for maximum impact.

 

Delphine had tried to have words with the man, she really had, but even she'd not been able to avoid the logic that if Aventus wanted a career in the army, he'd need to know this, so why not teach him now? She'd given up arguing and spent the rest of the day sulking in the library with Esbern, who'd been less than sympathetic.

 

“You knowingly took the Night Mother and her, let's be frank, murderously insane keeper into your home. Delphine, under the circumstances, this is one of the better scenarios.”

 

“I didn't know she'd start talking to me!” Delphine protested. Esbern was having very little of it.

 

“Would she have named you Listener if you didn't already have blood on your hands?”

 

Of course not, that was the point, wasn't it? She'd killed one too many marks in the Guild, and on at least one occasion, it had been because she'd been recognised from the war and she couldn't risk the Thalmor knowing where she was. Her innkeeper days hadn't entirely been free of murder either. Not that Thalmor spies really caused her to lose much sleep over killing them, but keep at it long enough and eventually it would become second nature. As it had... until now.

 

She'd ended up curled at the Night Mother's feet.

 

“Why me, Mother?” she whispered. “Why me?”

 

No answer. When she most needed to hear the Night Mother's voice, nothing. Just silence. She had an inkling then of how Cicero had felt all those years and it had taken all her self-control not to rip the corpse to shreds in fury. Shaking, she'd closed the doors to the Night Mother's room and retreated to bed.

 

_Come home soon, Cicero. Come home._

 

Eola had turned up three days later with a sackful of Orc body parts, one writ of passage, and a mission accomplished. Delphine had avoided the kitchen while Eola set to work preparing enough supplies to keep her going for a week at least, but she'd not been able to avoid the girl forever. Not least when she turned up bearing moon sugar tea and offering a shoulder rub.

 

“It'll be alright, Delphine,” Eola had murmured into her ear as she'd set to work. “He'll be back soon. In the mean time, you lie back and let me take care of you, hmm?”

 

Delphine hadn't resisted, letting Eola see to her shoulders and back, lying face down and moaning softly as the younger woman got to work. She felt the tension slip away, but the loneliness hadn't and the lump in her throat was still there. Finally Eola stopped, pulling some furs up to wrap around her, then lying alongside Delphine, stroking her hair.

 

“Anything else I can do for you, Listener?” she asked gently.

 

_Yes. Stay. Turn into Cicero. Or... something. Talos, I need someone to touch me. Touch me, kiss me, use me, fuck me, anything._

 

“No,” Delphine whispered, tears in her eyes. “That'll be all. Thank you, Eola.”

 

“If you're sure,” Eola said, hand trailing down Delphine's back before she got off the bed.

 

“I'm sure,” Delphine whispered, eyes closed and wishing Cicero would hurry home.

 

Aranea had turned up two days later, which had caused Delphine's heart to leap... then plummet as she realised Aranea was alone.

 

“Where is he?” she whispered, throat going dry. “Sithis, what happened?” _Please, no, he can't be..._

 

“He's fine,” Aranea reassured her, taking a seat across the table from her and rubbing her hand. “He sent me on ahead, that's all. Said he didn't need me along once we found the Scroll and he could learn Dragonrend on his own.”

 

Delphine finally felt herself relax. Alive. Thank the gods, Cicero lived. Of course, that did mean he was out there roaming Skyrim on his own with an Elder Scroll, which was a whole other problem. Not that there was a lot Delphine could do about it, other than hope he didn't accidentally destroy the universe.

 

Then that very evening, Cicero finally waltzed in, Elder Scroll held out in front of him, grin on his face and a skip in his step.

 

“Listener!” he sang out. “Cicero has returned! And he knows Dragonrend!”

 

Delphine couldn't have cared less about Dragonrend right then. She raced around the table, took the Scroll off him, passed it off to Esbern and then swept Cicero into her arms, crushing him to her and kissing him with all the pent-up ferocity she could manage. Cicero squealed, happily kissing her back and squirming in her arms.

 

“Delphine,” he gasped as she finally let him go, face flushed, hat on the floor and hair in need of tidying. “Keep this up and Cicero will begin to think you can't live without him.”

 

“I missed you,” was all Delphine trusted herself to say in response to that. Cicero's smile faded as he noticed the expression on her face.

 

“Delphine? Sweetness? Are you well? Cicero was only jesting, he did not think...”

 

Delphine stroked his cheek, already feeling the guilt and the emptiness start to fade away. _My Dragonborn is back. At last, at last._ Cicero was here and finally the world made sense again, crazy as that sounded. If leading the Dark Brotherhood was the price to be paid for loving him, for having him love her... so be it. There were worse fates.

 

It was then that a silky smooth baritone she'd not heard before echoed throughout the chamber.

 

“So this is your Sanctuary. Impressive. Bigger than I'd expected.”

 

Delphine stared over Cicero's shoulder to see the ghost of a man in Shrouded Robes wandering around the place, dagger at his waist, face hidden by the cowl but what there was visible suggested an Imperial not much older than Cicero.

 

“Oh hey there, sexy dead guy,” Eola breathed. “Never had _that_ sort of craving for the flesh of the dead before.”

 

Delphine turned to Cicero, who was blushing and looking rather guilty. “Cicero, why is the ghost of a dead Dark Brotherhood member wandering around?”

 

“Ah. Er...” He was saved from having to answer by Aranea.

 

“Lucien. Welcome.” She rose to her feet, smiling. “Should have known Cicero would have resummoned you. Everyone, this is Lucien Lachance, Speaker of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary during the Oblivion crisis.”

 

“Quite,” said Delphine, approaching the spectre. “But what's he doing here?”

 

“He was Astrid's bonus for the Stone-Fist job,” said Aranea. “I told her Cicero could have him. So now he's bonded to Cicero and Cicero can summon him at will to help fight for him.”

 

“He was Cicero's hero,” Cicero sighed, the blissful expression on his face something Delphine wasn't used to seeing aimed at people other than her. “Come, come, let Cicero introduce you.” Taking her hand, he led her over to where Lucien was standing, watching them both intently.

 

“Lucien, Lucien, this is Delphine, our Listener. Delphine, this... this is Lucien.” He stepped back awkwardly, clutching Delphine's hand still and looking for all the world like a child who'd brought a new pet home. An apt comparison, that.

 

“So you are Delphine,” said Lucien, smile flitting across his face. Now he was facing her, Delphine could see Lucien's eyes glittering at her. Same colour as Cicero's from the look of it but colder and far more focused. The eyes of a true killer.

 

“Cicero has told me all about you,” he continued in that deep voice that could melt butter with a word. “It's a pleasure to meet you... Listener.”

 

“Likewise,” said Delphine. “Did I hear right? You're... bonded to Cicero now?” She shot Cicero a glance that told him exactly what she thought of him binding himself to strange men without telling her. Cicero's blush deepened and he shuffled awkwardly, staring at his feet.

 

“Indeed, Listener,” Lucien replied, still with that not-quite-smile on his face. “When he has need of me, he may summon me to his side and I will accompany him and protect him. So far, he's seemed to need me quite frequently.”

 

“I imagine so,” said Delphine, glancing at Cicero, who responded by drawing in closer and wrapping his arms around her.

 

“Cicero was lonely,” he said, a pleading note in his voice. “Aranea could not be there all the time, and then she got injured and Cicero needed help and...”

 

Cries of “You never told me this!” and “Are you alright??” erupted from both Calixto and Sapphire while Aranea swiftly began reassuring them both that yes, she was fine, she'd seen a healer, all was well, please stop fussing, didn't one of you end up getting stabbed as well not so long ago?

 

Delphine smiled and cuddled Cicero. It was the pitiful look in his eyes that won her over, the desperate need for her approval. It was really very hard for her to say no to him like this, not that there appeared to be a lot she could do about this particular situation.

 

“It's alright, love. You're allowed to have friends. He's clearly someone we can trust, so it's fine. We've got a lot to talk about, haven't we? Come on, let's eat and you and Aranea can tell us everything. Lucien, it's a pleasure to meet you. Join us and I will introduce you to the others.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The storytelling and sharing went on late into the night as everyone recounted their adventures. Needless to say, Cicero's took the longest and involved most interruptions. Finally, he finished by telling them all that after a titanic mountain top battle with Alduin, he'd gone back to the Greybeards who'd suggested finding out where Alduin had gone by trapping a dragon and interrogating it.

 

“Trap a dragon,” said Delphine in disbelief. “Are they serious?”

 

“Oh yes!” said Cicero, apparently oblivious to the difficulties inherent in this particular task. “It's been done before after all. Someone once caught a dragon in Dragonsreach.”

 

“King Olaf and Numinex,” said Sapphire softly. “I haven't heard that story in years. It's a little short on detail though – just said King Olaf used Shouts to defeat Numinex the dragon on Mount Anthor and took him prisoner. Dragged him all the way back to Whiterun and trapped him in the Great Porch there.”

 

“Sounds like utter fiction to me,” said Calixto. “Cicero, are you sure these... Greybeards were telling you the truth?”

 

“They were, they were!” Cicero cried. “They said it was based on a true story and that h- they, well, not them personally you understand but a member of their order at the time, used to go and speak with the dragon. Delphine, it's possible, it must be possible, you can think of something, surely!”

 

“I will, but it's a little short notice!” Delphine sighed. “Dragonsreach, hmm. If it really did hold a dragon before and is still capable, I'm sure they'll have refurbished it, given the current situation. But I'll need to go and have a look myself, talk to Irileth, see if it's usable still. We'd need to lure a dragon there though, we can't drag one back from Mount Anthor or anywhere else – if we could do that, we wouldn't need the trap. Need to talk to Jarl Balgruuf as well – we can't just take over his palace without asking.”

 

“Why not?” Cicero asked.

 

“Why not? Why n- because,” said Delphine firmly, “not even we are going to be able to lure a dragon to Whiterun, fight it, subdue it, get it into a dragon trap and interrogate it without anyone hearing and coming to investigate! The Jarl, Irileth and the guards WILL notice!”

 

“Not if we kill them all fi-irst!” Cicero sang out, fingering his dagger gleefully. Delphine put her head in her hands, garnering sympathetic looks from Esbern, Eola and Aranea in particular.

 

“We are not murdering every guard in Whiterun, and the Jarl and his housecarl!” Delphine sid through gritted teeth. “I said no, Cicero, stop pouting.”

 

“Bet she doesn't miss him quite so much now,” Sapphire whispered in Eola's ear. Eola had to agree.

 

“But what if the Jarl says no?” Cicero asked innocently. “This is a very important matter – we cannot leave it to the whims of one man. Can Cicero kill him if he refuses to help?”

 

“If he refuses, I will think about the matter and then make a decision,” said Delphine, using her sternest 'I am the Listener' voice. “Are we clear on this, Cicero?” Her eyes stared directly into his, almost daring him to challenge her. He didn't take the bait.

 

“Yes, Listener,” he said, dropping his eyes first. “Cicero will follow his Listener's orders as always.”

 

A brief wave of snickering and knowing glances made its way round the table, or at least it did until a look from Delphine killed the merriment.

 

“You'll follow them alright,” said Delphine, her voice low and dangerous. “You will follow them because I will be handling all these negotiations personally, and you will be at my side. Where I can see you at all times. With your weapons away. Saying nothing unless specifically asked for an opinion. Am I quite clear on this?”

 

To her surprise, Cicero looked nothing short of delighted at this. “You mean... the Listener and Cicero? Travelling? Together? Just the two of us?” Delphine nodded warily, beginning to wonder if just perhaps she'd been wrongfooted. Cicero squealed with joy, flinging his arms around her.

 

“Cicero would like nothing better than to go on an adventure with his most sweet of Listeners!” he cried. “Thank you thank you thank you!”

 

Delphine felt her irritation melt away. He might be an insane murderer, but he was  _her_ insane murderer when all was said and done. As he snuggled into her arms, she felt a long-missed feeling of contentment and rightness settle into her bones.  _I will be Listener. For you, I will do this._

 

“We'll leave in a couple of days – Cicero's only just got back after all. The rest of you can amuse yourselves for a few days until we get back. Esbern, will you be able to research ways of luring dragons? There must be one, there's so many stories of challenges being called out to dragons somehow, and dragons answering.”

 

“There are indeed,” said Esbern. “It's the Thu'um – dragon names are always three words of power, like a Shout. Shout a dragon's name and it will hear it and quite possibly come to investigate.”

 

“Oooh...” Cicero breathed. Much of what Paarthurnax had told him made rather more sense now. “So Cicero could call a dragon if he knew its name?”

 

“You could,” Esbern confirmed. “If you knew its name. Dragons aren't obliged to come, but I think they might if they know it's you calling them. You just sent Alduin running to Sovngarde – I think we can expect a certain unrest and curiosity amongst his erstwhile allies.”

 

“So we need a dragon's name,” said Delphine. “The library has records of dragons the Blades encountered, doesn't it?”

 

“It does,” said Esbern, looking overjoyed at the thought of some research. “I'll look into it for you, Delphine. Come back when you've convinced the Jarl that this is a good idea, I should have something.”

 

With that, it was settled. Toasts were drunk, promises were made, and as the celebrating quieted down, Delphine and Cicero slipped away to do a little celebrating of their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Dovah:
> 
> Krongrah - victory  
> Krilot - valiant  
> Kul - son  
> Monahvulon - Night Mother
> 
> Next chapter advances the plot hardly at all, but to make up for that, it is quite long and utterly filthy.


	22. A LaChance Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you've got a horny Listener, a Keeper with a crush, and a ghostly companion that can only be banished in battle? This.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unmitigated filth, I'm afraid. I regret nothing. :)
> 
> Warnings for D/s, M/M/F threesome, voyeurism, dirty talking, spanking, frottage, handjobs, temperature difference, orgasm control/denial, Lucien Lachance's voice.

Perhaps she'd had a little too much mead. Perhaps they both had. She couldn't take her eyes off him and keeping her hands off him was proving to be a complete non-starter. Fortunately Cicero wasn't the type to mind. They had their arms wrapped around each other as they staggered down the corridor to their bedroom, Cicero resting his head on her shoulder.

 

“Cicero has missed you,” he whispered into her ear, planting a gentle kiss on her neck before nibbling her earlobe.

 

Delphine moaned softly, before leaning down to kiss him. Eager lips met hers, and gloved hands were unfastening her hair, letting it fall down as he pulled her closer, hand holding the back of her head as his other rested on her lower back. Delphine's own were around his shoulders and back, but not for long as she broke the kiss and took hold of his shoulders, shoving up him up against the wall. Cicero tilted his head back, gasping with delight as he squirmed. Eyes half-opened, twin pits of darkness promising all sorts of delights if she did but say the word, that gorgeous bow-shaped mouth smiling at her - he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, erotic damnation in that leather armour.

 

“You're beautiful, you know that?” she whispered. “So damn gorgeous, I can't even think straight. I don't know right from wrong around you and I don't even care any more, I just want to kiss you and never stop.”

 

Cicero laughed, a low sensual sound from deep in his throat that had her quivering at the knees.

 

“What is life's greatest labyrinth?” he asked. Delphine had no idea but it sounded like a Sanctuary passphrase.

 

“What's that, Cheydinhal's passphrase?” she asked, sliding a thigh between his legs, rubbing against his already hard cock and making him shiver.

 

“Bruma's,” Cicero whispered. “Oh, don't stop, beloved.”

 

Delphine stopped, smiling as a disappointed moan escaped his lips. “Then tell me the answer, my little he-daedra.” Cicero's eyes flicked open. He looked utterly delighted.

 

“He-daedra! No one has called me that before. Creative. Cicero likes it.”

 

“The answer,” Delphine growled, one hand moving from his shoulder to grip his neck, ever so gently but with enough pressure to get the message across that if she were so inclined, she could start squeezing the life out of him with very little effort. Which he'd probably enjoy, knowing him.

 

“What is life's greatest labyrinth?” Cicero whispered, his voice low and husky. “Morality, my sister. Step out of that maze and life is so much simpler.”

 

Delphine closed her eyes. If only it were actually that simple. But she could certainly make a temporary escape.

 

“Stop talking,” she said, dragging him onwards to where their bedroom door waited. “I can think of much better uses to put that mouth of yours to.”

 

“My Listener,” Cicero breathed, following her in. Delphine kicked the door shut behind them and began stripping her armour off, heedless as it crashed to the floor, leaving her wearing only a cotton shift and her underwear beneath it. Cicero's fingers helped and then he was helping her strip his own off, cuirass falling to the floor along with his gloves as Delphine unlaced his trousers, pushing him back on the bed as she stripped him down to his underwear with a well practised efficiency. She leaned over him, holding down his shoulders as she straddled him, and Cicero's hands were at her waist and sliding upwards to cup her breasts, one sliding round her back to bring her lower so he could reach easier. Delphine reached for the straps, preparing to slide them down her shoulders so she could remove her arms and then get the garment off entirely, so Cicero could touch her properly and so she could see that look of pure adoration he always had on his face whenever he saw her naked. He had it now, mixed with anticipation as his hands dropped to her thighs, caressing them as he waited. She saw him blink, his eyes darting to one side, then suddenly his face twisted in rage and she was flung off him into the pillows as Cicero sprang to his feet.

 

“What are you doing here?” he shrieked. “How dare you trespass in the sanctity of the Listener's private bedchamber?? How DARE you? GET OUT OF HERE!”

 

Lucien grinned, leaning back against the far wall with his arms folded, those cold eyes surveying them both appreciatively. They lingered on Delphine, and she swiftly pulled the straps of her shift back up, glaring back with all the glacial fury she could summon.

 

“Cicero,” she said softly. “What is he doing here.”

 

“I'm sorry, Listener,” said Cicero, face red with either anger or embarrassment or both, it was difficult to tell. “He's meant to do what I tell him. Lucien! Get out at once! Our Listener does not need you watching her while she takes her pleasure!”

 

“Oh, did no one tell you, Keeper?” said Lucien, still smiling gleefully. “We are bonded, you and I. Joined by the power of the Void. Where you go, I go. I can't leave unless you do.”

 

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Delphine, feeling her heart sink and some little part of her brain that normally kept such things as rage and bloodlust and other kinds of lust under control start to unravel. “Cicero. There's a banishing spell, right? Or it expires. How long's he got left? Summonations don't last that long.”

 

Cicero had never looked more wretched and Lucien's grin had only intensified.

 

“No banishing spell, Listener. No time limit. I am here until defeated. If you want me gone, you had best pick your blade up now, but be warned – I would fight back.”

 

Delphine was out of bed in a second, reaching for her katana – or at least she would be had Cicero not flung himself on her.

 

“Listener, no!” he cried, horrified. “You mustn't! You can't! He's a brother! It would break the tenets!”

 

Right now, Delphine really couldn't care less about the tenets.

 

“Out of my way, Cicero,” she said, ready to push him aside if she had to. Cicero tightened his grip, still wailing.

 

“Please no!” he howled. “Not my Lucien, please!”

 

“Your Lucien?” said Delphine, a little more of her self-control starting to come loose and the urge to lay violent hands on something increasing. “Like that, is it? Is that what you meant by wanting company? Did you want to feel the hand of someone else disciplining you or did you want to subject him to your own desires?”

 

“No! No! No!” Cicero sobbed, falling to his knees as he clung to her legs. “Cicero would never... it is not like that! Cicero loves you, sweetness, he would never betray you! It's your touch he longs for, your sweet caresses, your tender and not so tender ministrations! Please, Listener, I love you, please!”

 

“Then banish him and submit to me,” said Delphine, picking up Cicero's dagger, pressing the hilt into his palm. “It is not murder when he's already dead and can be resummoned at need.”

 

Cicero stared at the dagger as if he'd never seen it before. “Listener... there must be another way. I can't... not Lucien. Delphine, he was my hero. My idol. There was a picture of him on Cicero's wall at Bruma when he was a young assassin, Cicero used to look at it before he went to bed and pray to the Night Mother for skills like his. Used to feel those mesmerising dark eyes watching after him as he went to work. Oh Listener, half my kills were helped by knowing that afterwards I could go home and look into those beautiful eyes and feel he'd be proud of me.”

 

“Cicero, he's got murderer's eyes,” said Delphine before realising yes, that was exactly the point.

 

“I know!” Cicero sobbed. “They were so merciless and cruel with a hint of savagery and... Listener, Cicero can no more raise a dagger against Lucien than he can against you. Poor, weak, pathetic Cicero cannot possibly hope to triumph against someone like him.”

 

Just like that, Delphine felt the rage subside to be replaced with something rather different and unexpected. Pity. He just looked so unhappy and helpless, and she could tell what was really going on. Hero-worship, hormones, a desire to submit to some sort of caring authority figure that had clearly been present for many years – dammit. She should perhaps have seen this coming, but how on Nirn did one factor in the ghost of one's lover's boyhood crush turning up? You didn't, of course, no one could plan for that. But if it did happen, well, there were ways of working around it. Stepping away from Cicero, she lay back on the bed, deciding she might as well get comfortable. Cicero, not having been ordered to move, remained kneeling, still sniffling and staring at the floor.

 

Delphine looked up to where Lucien was standing, looking rather uncomfortable with the whole scenario.

 

“I am sorry, Listener,” he said, sounding contrite for the first time since she'd met him. “I knew he had some admiration for me, but I didn't know... Truly, Delphine, I'm deeply sorry. Keeper of the Night Mother is a sacred post, and Keeper of the Listener... no one but a fool would consider interfering with that bond.”

 

“Cicero is a fool!” Cicero wailed. “Cicero is but a witless idiot, a pathetic and useless simpleton who is unworthy of any such honour! Lucien, Delphine never formally named me her Keeper. She is new to the Brotherhood, she does not know what it means. And now Cicero has bound himself to someone else and upset his Listener, and he can't do anything about it and...”

 

“Cicero,” Delphine's voice cut across the room, in a tone that brooked little argument. “Be quiet.”

 

Cicero fell silent immediately. Lucien's eyes widened, clearly impressed at Delphine having sufficient command of him to shut Cicero up with a word.

 

“Lucien,” said Delphine, turning to him. “Tell Cicero you're proud of him. Tell him he's the best assassin in Skyrim, the most brutally murderous son of the Night Mother in Tamriel. Tell him you love watching him claim yet another soul for Sithis.”

 

Lucien managed a smile. “Easily done. Cicero, get up and come here.”

 

Cicero dragged himself to his feet, shuffling towards Lucien with his head hanging down.

 

“Sir,” he whispered. Lucien placed one hand on Cicero's shoulder, the other tilting his head up so he was looking straight into Lucien's eyes. So he was corporeal enough to touch and manipulate objects, including other people. Interesting.

 

“Cicero,” said Lucien, deep voice making even Delphine shiver a little, so what it must be doing to Cicero was anyone's guess. “They told me of you in the Void. They told me of your love for the Night Mother, your devotion, your sacrifices, your skills. But they did not tell me everything and you were not what I was expecting.”

 

“Sir,” Cicero whispered, heartbreaking disappointment clear from the set of his shoulders.

 

“You're more than that,” said Lucien, leaning closer to Cicero. “They did not tell me you were so very alive. I was expecting some cold-hearted killing machine who lived solely for the next set of orders. I expected blood, and you've given me that in plenty. I did not expect the fire. Not the laughter. Not the passion that burns in your every sinew. You're not cold-hearted at all. You're an unstoppable force of nature, like a lightning storm or forest fire.”

 

“Laughter Incarnate,” said Cicero faintly, but he wasn't laughing, far from it. “Um, might Cicero ask where this is going...?”

 

“Had you been alive in Cheydinhal in my day, I would have had you for my Silencer,” said Lucien. Delphine had no idea what a Silencer was, but Cicero clearly did because he'd gone very still and only the barest gasp had escaped his lips. “And were I alive right now, I would be very envious of the Listener. So envious I might even need to petition her for permission to... borrow... her Keeper.”

 

No doubt about it, Cicero had actually whimpered that time, and Delphine found her mind overwhelmed by images of things she'd never known she wanted but now desperately wanted to see.

 

“Granted,” she heard herself say before she could stop and think about what she'd just agreed to.

 

“Listener?” she heard Cicero gasp, turning to look at her, or at least he did until Lucien had grabbed his chin turned him back to face Lucien again.

 

“I do believe your Listener likes the idea of watching me entertain myself with you,” Lucien murmured. “What do you say, boy? Shall we give the Listener a show?”

 

Cicero made an incoherent noise in the back of his throat that could have meant anything. Fortunately, Delphine was still capable of the power of speech.

 

“Yes. Oh yes please,” she sighed, settling back into the pillows, her libido already flickering back into life. “Lucien, if he protests, he's just being contrary. Only if he says Sanctuary does he actually mean it, at which point, stop whatever you're doing and let him go. Carry on after he's said that, and I kill you myself, no arguments, no appeal, nothing.”

 

“Understood,” said Lucien, producing his dagger and slicing Cicero's underwear off, leaving him naked and hard. “Sithis forbid I damage the Listener's favourite. It's generally understood doing that's a good way to die.” The dagger went away, and next thing Delphine knew, Lucien was kissing Cicero, lips pressed to his as his tongue probed Cicero's mouth and fingers entwined in his hair. Cicero cried out, then cries turned to moans as the kiss deepened and Lucien's free hand began to squeeze Cicero's bottom. Cicero's own arms were wrapped around Lucien's shoulders as he pushed Lucien's cowl back, revealing the short dark hair beneath. Delphine felt herself grow wet as she watched, Cicero now turning from terrified to eager, thrusting up against Lucien and moaning with pleasure. Lucien's deeper groans also echoed around the room, and Delphine discreetly removed her underwear, one hand sliding between her legs as she bit her lip to avoid making a sound and interrupting them. _Please oh please, please ravage the boy for me, and please keep making those noises, please..._

 

Lucien spun Cicero round, walking him backwards towards the bed, then flinging him down, unlacing his trousers to reveal his own erection. Cicero whimpered a little at the sight of it – it wasn't that he'd never been with a man before, but it had usually been limited to a blowjob or handjob, and that one semi-literate Nord with a taste for erotica who used to make Cicero read to him while he pleasured himself – apparently he liked the way Cicero could make virtually anything sound filthy if he put his mind to it. Listening to Lucien talk, Cicero began to realise how he'd felt. Lucien had him pinned down, erection thrusting right up against Cicero's own as Lucien began to whisper in his ear that the Listener was a most fortunate woman indeed, being able to see this on a regular basis, and did Cicero know just how sinfully delightful he looked right now, trapped and helpless and _writhing_ like some sort of wanton harlot, and Cicero whimpered, gasping that no sir, he had no idea, but he couldn't help it, he was just a poor fool after all, a slave to his baser nature and then oh Sithis, Lucien had his hand around both of their cocks and it was _cold,_ so cold but Cicero never wanted it to stop, not ever oh no. Then Lucien sank ghostly teeth into Cicero's shoulder and it was like a dozen needle-sharp ice-picks had pierced his flesh.

 

Cicero shrieked and bucked underneath Lucien, who hesitated for just a second, met Cicero's eyes and smiled. It was merciless in its cruelty and Cicero shivered at the mere sight of it. Oh yes, this what he'd dreamed of all those years ago and while it wasn't quite what he'd expected, he was never going to complain.

 

A hand slid into his, warm, feminine, alive and Cicero squeezed it gently, looking up to see Delphine lying stretched out next to him, eyes hazy with lust and her face flushed, looking close to orgasm if she'd not already had one, and her other hand was between her legs, and Cicero began to thrust against Lucien, moaning as the other man laid a trail of those delicious icy cold bite marks down Cicero's chest before fixing on one of his nipples. Cicero cried out and felt Delphine's grip on his hand tighten, a pained whimper of delight escaping her lips. Sithis yes, this was better than his teenage self could ever have imagined because not only was _Lucien Lachance_ tormenting him and admiring him, the _Listener of the Dark Brotherhood_ , who had done him the honour and privilege of taking him into her life and bed, was watching and enjoying it.

 

“Sithis, I can't hold back much longer,” Cicero whispered. “Listener, if you want me to...”

 

Lucien stopped what he was doing, giving Cicero a little respite, and turned to look rather speculatively at Delphine. She immediately went still, hand withdrawing from between her legs as she stared back at Lucien, a hint of nervousness creeping in to her expression.

 

“She does look a little lonely all the way over there by herself, doesn't she?” said Lucien, as idly as if he were trying to decide what to have for dinner that evening. “We should remedy that, I think.”

 

Leaning to one side, he picked Delphine up by the waist and hauled her to him. Delphine was wide-eyed, seemingly unable to respond. Lucien traced those deathly chill fingers down her cheek and then down her chest, pausing over one fabric-covered nipple, smiling in satisfaction as it hardened at his touch.

 

“It has always been a deeply cherished fantasy of mine to fuck a Listener,” Lucien said calmly, still sounding as if he was having a casual conversation. Delphine gasped, eyes widening a fraction as he kept circling her nipple, the other arm holding her upright as those dark eyes regarded her as if she was some interesting piece of art he'd just found.

 

“All those I've served under,” Lucien continued, “they've always been so self-contained, so in control all the time, so commanding and intimidating. Don't you think, Cicero?”

 

“Cicero has only known two, sir,” Cicero gasped. “And one of them, barely at all. Sir, could Cicero please... could Cicero please feel your cock against him again? Please, I need to come, please...”

 

Lucien took his hand away from Delphine's breast and slapped Cicero's upper thigh.

 

“Quiet, boy. You will come when I am ready for you to. No sooner.” He turned his attention back to Delphine. “As I was saying. Every Listener I've known, and you appear to be no exception, has, however charming, been universally strong, controlled and utterly in charge. Some, like your Cicero here, crave that. They like someone stronger than them telling them what to do. Me, well. I just have this urge to bend them over a desk, slide inside them and fuck them until they're screaming my name, begging for more, wanting me to use them without mercy until they can't even remember their own name. In life, I never had the chance. Now... now here you are and as an unexpected bonus, I might even be able to do it while your man here watches, helpless to do anything about it as his Listener's debased before his very eyes.”

 

_He wouldn't..._ But Cicero could tell from the look in Lucien's eyes that if Delphine didn't immediately grab a dagger and gut him for his impertinence, Lucien would be doing just that and there'd be nothing Cicero could do about it. Worse, a treacherous little voice at the back of his mind was whispering that the look of pleasure-pain on Delphine's face as that icy-cold member slid into her would be a joy to behold.

 

“Cicero,” Delphine whispered, glancing at him. Not for permission, as if she needed that from him, honestly, but to see how he was reacting to this prospect. Cicero felt his heart flutter at the realisation Delphine really didn't want to upset or hurt him. So kind. So sweet. He truly didn't deserve her.

 

“Your choice, Listener,” he told her. “Cicero does not mind either way. Give in to him, and Cicero shall hold your hand throughout. Call Sanctuary and Cicero shall slice his throat if you're not immediately unhanded.”

 

“A fair bargain,” Lucien laughed. “If damaging the Listener's favourite is a known death sentence, I'd expect nothing less than obliteration for violating the Listener herself. Well, Delphine? Am I to take your silence, or at least the lack of a blade in my guts, as acceptance?”

 

“Keep talking and I'm all yours,” Delphine whispered. Lucien grinned in triumph, taking her by the shoulders and flinging her down over Cicero who caught her and stroked her hair, crooning softly to her.

 

“Don't let go of me,” Delphine gasped, genuine worry in her eyes. Cicero kissed her face gently, loving her so very dearly even as he knew Lucien was positioning her so she was straddling Cicero, lining up her hips so he could enter her. Lucien grabbed Delphine by the shoulders and hauled her back, reaching for his dagger and slicing through the straps on her shift. It fell to her waist, revealing her breasts for them both to see. Cicero felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight, as it always did. Lucien sheathed his dagger, tracing spectral fingers around the curve of her breast before tweaking one of her nipples. Delphine cried out, shuddering in his arms, and she cried out even more as his other hand crept to her clit, stimulating already swollen flesh. Delphine made a noise that was almost a sob as Lucien touched her, but he didn't stop for a second and it was only seconds later that she was crying out incoherently as the orgasm hit. Lucien smiled viciously, suddenly taking his fingers away and pushing her back on to Cicero before entering her in one swift motion. Delphine barely had time to cry in outrage at the interrupted orgasm before she was making entirely different noises, filled as she was by a cold hardness that set every nerve on fire.

 

“Ssh, it's alright, I'm here,” Cicero soothed her, stroking her hair back as he held her. “Say the word and we will stop.”

 

“So cold,” Delphine whispered, her face pale and fearful. “Oh gods, Cicero, how did you manage this?” She cried out again as Lucien slapped her arse, before pulling her thighs back and forcing her down into a prostrate position, clitoris pressing into Cicero's cock. Cicero moaned, thrusting up against her as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her fiercely.

 

“And now I think I can allow Cicero to come,” Lucien drawled. “I just wanted to make sure I was inside you at the time – driving him to orgasm while I'm fucking his Listener has a perverse pleasure to it, don't you agree?” Slowly, achingly slowly, he withdrew from Delphine before ramming into her hard. Cicero felt her shudder with the impact, feeling each thrust ripple through her body and thrusting himself in time, hard cock up against her clitoris, warmth from him contrasting with the cold from Lucien, gentle warm hands on her face and shoulders contrasting with rough fingers freezing her hips. Delphine was making whimpering noises that were most unlike her, mewling and begging for something, anything, Cicero wasn't sure what, except the words “please... let me... Cicero... Lucien... please...” were being repeated a lot. _She's so lucky... I wish I was a girl sometimes._

 

Mainly because women didn't have to try and postpone orgasm for as long as possible – they could just ride it out, have one, keep going, have another... Cicero envied them, mainly because he knew he wasn't going to last, not with Delphine there, right there, gorgeous breasts and those rock-hard nipples digging into his chest, and the warm wetness of her grinding into him, and hearing her whimper, knowing that Lucien bloody sexy-bastard Lachance was fucking her rougher and harder than Cicero ever would and she was letting him.

 

He writhed as she held him, moaning as he thrust up against her, harder and faster now, no longer bothering to time his strokes with Lucien, just needing the release, needing it, Sithis yes, so close now, don't stop, don't ever stop, Listener and Lucien, both of you so fucking gorgeous, yes yes, Sithis yes, every fantasy I could have dreamed of, oh yes, yes, YES!

 

He didn't even realise he'd been saying it all out loud, clinging on to Delphine and pulling her to him as he came, seed spilling between them until finally he was done and slowly opening his eyes, staring into Delphine's face, crazed with lust and shock and something else that wasn't exactly fear but looked a bit similar. He could see Lucien over her shoulder, head flung back, ecstatic smile on his face as he moved slowly inside Delphine, thrusting in a gentle rhythm as his fingers bit into her gorgeous arse.

 

“Oh yes,” he breathed. “You two are delightful. If you never summon me again, Keeper, rest easy and know I'll not forget this in a hurry. Oh Sithis, Delphine, you can't decide if you're enjoying this or not, can you?”

 

“Didn't tell you to stop, did I?” Delphine shot back. Lucien laughed and thrust hard into her again.

 

“Always have to be in charge somehow, don't you, minx?” he growled. “Well, not for much longer.” He delivered another stinging slap to her backside. “I'm not stopping now until you've come screaming my name. So hold out by all means. Makes it all the more enjoyable.”

 

“I can Shout him off you any time you want, my Listener,” Cicero murmured. “Remember that.”

 

Delphine nodded, reaching for his hands, holding on to them as Lucien began to move, fucking her hard now in rapid, merciless thrusts that hurt like anything but she'd never wanted anything more in her life. She could feel an orgasm building and she was hyper-aware of everything, the cold meaning she couldn't be anything but.

 

“Cicero,” she whispered, feeling her cheeks flush as she looked at him, post-orgasmic bliss mixing with pride. She couldn't help but feel ashamed at enjoying this as much as she was, especially in front of Cicero. He didn't seem to mind in the slightest. He was smiling lazily at her and then he was kissing her and Delphine thought she might die there and then.

 

“Cicero,” she moaned. “Oh Cicero.” She felt a hand trail to her breast, gently kneading it and playing with the already abused and engorged nipple. Delphine moaned, so very close now, needing to come, needing it more than air at this point, and Cicero could tell it too.

 

“Yes, yes, Listener, come for us, yes,” he was whispering, “Call his name by all means, but Cicero knows who's in your blood, he does. Cicero is here for you, Listener, always, even if you never name him your Keeper, yes, oh yes, Delphine you have no idea how beautiful you look right now...”

 

“Come on Listener,” Lucien was saying at the same time, his own voice hoarse and ragged now, thrusting in a rapid, shallow rhythm that was holding her close to orgasm but not quite sending her over the edge. “All you have to do is ask and I'll fuck you like you need to be.”

 

Apparently it was merely Lucien Lachance saying the word 'fuck' that could bring her this low. “Please,” she moaned. “Please Lucien, please fuck me, I need to come, need to, please please please, oh!” Lucien had pulled almost all the way out and now driven hard into her, ramming into her over and over again, crying out her name.

 

“That's it,” he growled. “That's it, just like that, wanted this for years, Sithis you feel amazing, yes yes, just give it up for me, Listener...”

 

“Lucien,” Delphine cried. “Lucien, please, harder, Lucien, Cicero, need you, more, yes, more...”

 

“Listener,” Cicero whispered, stroking her face as he watched her nearing her climax. Her face flushed, hair hanging dishevelled, eyes closed and moaning with an abandon he wasn't sure he'd ever seen on her before, helpless and horny and needy all at once and by Sithis he hadn't realised he'd enjoy watching someone else take her quite this much. Of course, when that someone else was Lucien Lachance, it did make a difference. Especially if he could summon him at will... or not. “Yes, Listener, let it go, let it all go, Cicero is here, you're safe, you're loved, let me watch you, Sithis yes, stay with me...”

 

Lucien was thrusting into her for all he was worth now, that husky voice having abandoned words for meaningless grunts of pleasure, and as Cicero's hand found Delphine's clit, giving her the final stimulus she needed, Delphine finally came, screaming her pleasure to the world as Cicero held her. Behind her, she heard Lucien make a final thrust into her as he came, her insides practically turning to ice as he did so. To both her and Cicero's surprise, once Lucien had come, he faded into nothingness, his form collapsing in on itself into a pool of ectoplasm that chilled Delphine to the bone.

 

“Bastard, I'm not done!” Delphine cried. Cicero laughed and rolled her over, out of the ectoplasm and into a warm and dry part of the bed.

 

“This is why you've got a real man in your bed,” said Cicero, grinning as his fingers slid inside her. “Sithis, you're cold as the Void in here...”

 

“I feel it!” Delphine grimaced. “Warm me up. Now. Any way you like.”

 

Cicero laughed, fingers inside her and a thumb on her clit as he took up where Lucien had left off, bringing her to orgasm with the practised ease of one who'd done this many times before. She cried out, clinging on to him, writhing in his arms and thrusting against his hand as he watched her. It didn't take long. Delphine's fingers bit into his skin, the nails digging in as she arched her back, crying out incoherently as she came, the walls of her cunt clenching around Cicero's hand as she gasped and moaned, before finally falling back on the pillows, exhausted. Slowly, Cicero withdrew his hand, cleaning off warm juices and cold ectoplasm, shivering all over and ready to collapse next to her. But first, the clear-up. Sithis, but this place was a mess – they both were. Just about managing to stay upright, he fetched a few cloths and cleaned himself up, before changing the covers on the bed, dumping everything into a laundry sack to be sorted out later. Hopefully much later. Finally, he wiped Delphine clean and climbed into bed to cuddle with her.

 

“Listener,” he whispered. “My own sweet Listener. Are you... are you all right?”

 

Delphine nodded, snuggling into his arms, her head on his chest, a reversal of their more usual position.

 

“You've got blue teeth-marks all over you,” she whispered. Cicero glanced down, grinning.

 

“Oh dear. I hope those fade. Not too soon, though.” He lifted the covers, risking a glance down at her. Hypothesis confirmed. “Sweetling. Cicero does not know quite how to put this, but you have handprints...”

 

“What? Oh gods,” Delphine sighed, burying her face in the crook of Cicero's neck so at least he couldn't see her blushing. “Good thing no one but you is likely to see them, and at least I wasn't the one calling him 'sir'.”

 

“Cicero regrets nothing,” Cicero said, still grinning. “Delphine, do not take this the wrong way, Cicero has enjoyed every moment he's shared with you, but that may possibly be among the best sexual encounters he has ever had.”

 

“It was something else alright,” Delphine had to agree. _Next time, oh next time, I want him fucking Cicero..._ Next time. Huh. Apparently the experience hadn't put her off for life. Or Cicero from the sound of it. “So, you'd be up for another session with him at some point?”

 

“Sithis, yes, in a heartbeat. But... would you?” He ran a hand through her hair, tucking it back behind her ear so he could see her face better. “Sweetest one, do not agree to anything just to please me.”

 

Delphine raised her eyes to his, cruel smile on her lips. “Oh Cicero. He left handprints. _Handprints._ Do you really think I can let that go unpunished?”

 

Cicero stared, blinked and then began to giggle, and then the giggles devolved into full-on, insane crazy cackling.

 

“Oh Listener,” he laughed. “Listener, Listener, Listener! You are so very heartless sometimes. Will you need humble Cicero to help?”

 

“I thought you said you could no more hurt him than you could me?” Delphine asked. Cicero grinned, kissing her forehead.

 

“He's been a very bad boy, sweetling. Cicero will wring his hands and bewail that his cruel Listener is making him punish Lucien so, but really it's quite essential. How can the Brotherhood function if its Speakers don't know their rightful place?”

 

Now it was Delphine's turn to laugh. “Oh Cicero,” she managed to say in between her own giggles. “Dear sweet Cicero. I'm so glad I found you. You're a little he-daedra in human form, but I've not been so happy in years.”

 

Cicero's laughter faded and the grin became a little less manic. For once he looked serious.

 

“Nor me,” he said softly. “Delphine... thank you. For letting me be with Lucien that way. And for... doing what you did. Cicero appreciates it. He appreciates everything you do for him, for all of us. And he promises he will tell no one what happened tonight – well, not all of it anyway. Not the bits involving you giving in to Lucien. Cicero doesn't care what people think of him, but he knows you need the Family to take you seriously.”

 

Delphine shifted slightly, making herself comfortable. The coldness inside and out was rapidly fading, and Cicero's warm embrace had the effect of easing troubles away. If not the way she had been before hearing of Maro's death, she could at least hear someone call her Listener – could think of herself as Listener – without feeling like she was dying inside.

 

“I think it was what I needed,” said Delphine. “To be at someone else's mercy, just for a bit. That me being Listener was exactly why he wanted it... well, I'm not entirely sure I'd have said yes if that wasn't his motivation. What?”

 

Cicero had rolled his eyes and laughed. “Delphine,” he said playfully. “Do you really think that was the only reason he wanted you? Please.”

 

“No!” Delphine protested. “But... maybe that's what I needed. Someone to punish me for being Listener.”

 

Now Cicero was truly confused. “Why would you want to be punished for being Listener? Delphine? Is something... wrong?” The laughter had died completely from his face, wild eyes softening as he stroked her face, and Delphine wished she'd not said anything. No chance whatsoever of him even remotely understanding why someone might feel guilty over killing. Every chance of him freaking out and screaming at her that she couldn't not be Listener. But there was no avoiding it now. Delphine took a deep breath. Best just to confess and get it over with.

 

“Eola and I were passing through Dragon Bridge and we stayed at the inn there. We were there when the news of Gaius Maro's death came in. Turns out his fiancee was the innkeeper. I heard Commander Maro breaking the news to her and she just looked so distraught and heartbroken, they both were. I ended up crying all over Eola – I just felt so guilty. That's why I've missed you. I needed my Cicero. Needed my Dragonborn, needed to remember why I was doing this. I... gods, Cicero, I felt so horrible, I just wanted to give the whole thing up. Walk away, hide, not do it any more. I even thought about hurting Mother at one point, oh Cicero, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you, I can't leave you, not now, please don't hate me.”

 

She was shaking, she realised, bracing herself for the inevitable meltdown. If nothing else, the mention of wanting to hurt Mother would surely have him screaming in fury, right?

 

He'd gone very quiet, and his fingers had tightened just a little. Then he exhaled, growling a little.

 

“You should never have been there. This is why we always kept the Listener away from the sharp end of things. Why Speakers never see the targets. Damn Eola and her... well...” He sighed, the anger seeming to die out of him, presumably as he remembered whose fault it was that Eola got landed with Meridia's beacon in the first place. “Oh Listener. Dearest Listener. It is all Cicero's fault. He should have gone with you and Eola. Gone with Eola instead maybe. Delphine, Cicero is sorry. He is sorry for causing the whole mess, and sorry for not being there when you needed him. He begs you to forgive him... and don't leave. Please. Cicero will do anything, but please do not leave. Please!” He was rocking her in his arms now, sounding utterly distraught. It wasn't the furious meltdown she'd expected and Eola's words back then came back to her: _he's getting saner._

 

“I'm not leaving,” she said gently, stroking his hair and feeling him calm down a little. “I was scared and guilty and unhappy, and I needed you. Now you're back, and I'm feeling better. Things are clearer again. I know what I need to do, and I'll have you to help me do it. You'll help me, right? I'll take care of you, and when I'm feeling down or unhappy, you'll be there for me too, won't you?”

 

“Always,” Cicero whispered. “Forever and always, sweet Listener – call your K- call on your Cicero and he will be there.”

 

Keeper. There was that word again. Cicero had said it earlier, he and Lucien both had referred to the Night Mother's Keeper as distinct from the Listener's. What was it they'd said – a bond no one would interfere with on pain of death? A formal claiming by the Listener required? Something Cicero would desire greatly but didn't believe himself worthy of? She had to ask.

 

“Cicero, what's the Listener's Keeper for?”

 

She felt him tense immediately, then spring out of bed.

 

“Goodness, is that the time, I really need to oil Mother, haven't even looked at her since I got back, she'll be so angry with me!” he said, far too cheerfully. Delphine recognised an avoidance tactic when she saw it and pounced before he could make his escape.

 

“Get back here!” Delphine snapped, grabbing his arm. “It's the middle of the night, you can see to Mother tomorrow. Anyway, I borrowed your Keeping Tomes the other day and had a go at oiling her myself. She should be fine.”

 

“You did what???” Cicero gasped, horrified. His eyes shot to the closed door that led to the Night Mother's room, panic written all over his face. “You oiled Mother? But, but that's my job! You shouldn't be doing that!”

 

“You weren't here and I was bored,” Delphine pointed out, deciding it would be wisest not to mention that Eola had given her a hand and the whole thing, while not exactly breaking the first tenet, had been less of a sacrament and more of a girl's night in. “Now get back in bed. You were going to tell me what the Listener's Keeper does. I'm presuming that it doesn't involve three-hour rituals, a thorough oiling and bringing in half the flowers in Skyrim to decorate the bedroom.”

 

“Only if the Listener would like him to do that,” said Cicero nervously, slinking back into bed with her.

 

“It's not required, although the flowers are nice,” said Delphine. Cicero had nestled against her shoulder in his more usual position, but in no way could he be called relaxed. “Come on, Cicero, tell me what the Keeper does. How can I name a Keeper if I don't know what they're for? How do I know if you'd be any good at it if I don't know what you're meant to be doing for me? For all I know, one of the others might be a better choice...”

 

“NO!” Cicero shrieked, on top of her in an instant, eyes wild and inches from her own, terrified and furious and as unstable as she'd ever seen him. “NO NO NO NO NO! NO ONE ELSE! MINE! MY LISTENER! I KEEP MOTHER! I KEEP THE LISTENER! ME! NOT THEM! ME!”

 

And there she'd been, thinking he was getting better. “Cicero. Get off me,” she said, trying to keep calm and sound in control. She didn't think he'd get violent, but she could never be entirely sure with him.

 

Cicero loosened his grip a little but his eyes lost none of the mania. “My Listener!” he insisted, a plaintive wail that sounded like nothing more than a child clinging on to a favourite toy. “Mine!”

 

“Yes, I'm your Listener,” she said, stroking his face in an attempt to soothe him. “And you're my...” She paused. Nothing really sounded right. Husband? Factually incorrect. Lover? Not strong enough. Partner? Too like a business transaction. Boyfriend? Made her sound about fifteen. Toyboy? Worse. Man? Boy? Too generic, both. Dragonborn? Maybe, but it didn't have the same resonance for him that it did for her. She couldn't say Keeper because she didn't know what its significance was. Didn't leave her a lot of options. In the end she settled for his name.

 

“You're my Cicero,” she told him. “You're not going anywhere and I'm not going to replace you. Now, can you perhaps tell me about the Keeper of the Listener? If it means so much to you, then I should know about it, yes?”

 

Cicero's madness faded away as he rested his head on her shoulder again. Calmer, yes, but for how long? He still felt tense, and he sounded utterly miserable. “Cicero will tell you,” he whispered, dread and defeat in every syllable. “But Listener, oh Listener, Cicero has described himself as this to others, including Lucien. Cicero has claimed a title not rightfully his, as you never knowingly granted it. Because he wanted it so much, so much! He begs you to forgive him. He knows he is an unworthy fool and he would never – could never – oh Listener, if you do not want Cicero to Keep you, Cicero will understand. He always understands. But please, if you love him, if you have any regard for him at all, please don't choose anyone else. At least have the decency to send me away or end my miserable life so I don't have to see it...”

 

He'd curled up in a little ball, scared and fragile and unhappy all at once, as if bracing himself for a blow. As if he was expecting her to reject him. Given that she'd just had some of the most wrong/filthy/arousing sex of her life with him and that disturbingly sexy ghost companion of his, it wasn't something she was seriously considering for a second. She loved him dearly, couldn't imagine life without him now, no matter how trying he got. Yet here he was, acting as if she'd said she was going to replace him...

 

Comprehension dawned. Oh Talos. She'd inadvertently said exactly that. Keeper of the Listener. In a hierarchical order in which literally anyone from any rank could potentially get picked as the Listener, quite possibly going from a low or middle rank to the highest possible honour at the Night Mother's whim... well, if that new Listener happened to be married or seriously involved with another member who wasn't high-ranked themselves... She didn't need to imagine the consequences. No Sanctuary leader would want an assassin in the ranks who'd likely go running to the Listener any time something happened they didn't like, and the Listener would want their spouse close.

 

“Oh Cicero,” she said, drawing him close, kissing the top of his head. “I had no idea, I'm so sorry. Keeper of the Listener – it's not a rank or job title, is it? It's the title for the Listener's husband or wife. No wonder... no wonder you can't handle it being anyone else.”

 

Cicero nodded, burrowing into her arms.

 

“Cicero is sorry, Delphine,” he whispered. “He could not say it – was afraid of what you might say. He did not know how else to describe himself, because it fitted the way you treated him so well, so very well, but he could not – only the Listener can name her Keeper and you never had! You never named him, and Cicero could not ask, could not tell you because what if you did not want that? Cicero would rather... rather never know than be rejected. Oh Delphine, Cicero loves you so very much, and would never force you into anything you did not want. But if... one day... if Cicero is worthy... you have but to ask. Cicero could never refuse you, sweetness.”

 

It wasn't the most traditional of proposals, although Cicero did have the whole abasing himself before the beloved that Breton tradition required down to an art form. But it was the only one she'd ever had. The only one she was ever likely to have now. _I could marry Cicero. If I wanted._ She had a vision of standing in the Temple of Mara, Cicero at her side, she in her Blades armour, him in the new jester outfit that Radiant Raiment had finally delivered that morning. Of agreeing to be bound in love, now and forever, of Cicero sliding a gold ring of Mara on to her hand and then her doing the same to him. Of kissing him and then having him curl into her arms, her new husband. It was ridiculous, the mere idea, and she surely wasn't wife material. Surely not.

 

“Hope you're not expecting meals cooked and your clothes mended,” she told him, only half in jest. Cicero looked insulted at the mere idea.

 

“Cicero can do his own cooking and mending, thank you very much! What sort of Keeper would make his Listener trouble herself with menial tasks like that? Cicero Keeps you. Not the other way around.”

 

Delphine felt a little knot of tension inside start to unravel, a well of laughter bubbling up inside. She should have expected that marriage wouldn't completely overwrite Cicero's entire personality.

 

“Should have known you'd not want a subservient little wife to tend to you,” Delphine laughed. Cicero shook his head vigorously.

 

“Oh no. Cicero can't see the attraction of that at all. Cicero likes Delphine as she is.”

 

Delphine squeezed him tight, silently thanking the gods for sending Cicero to her. Barely three months, and he'd somehow burrowed his way into her heart and entwined himself into her life so deeply she couldn't imagine him not being there. And now here he was seriously offering himself as a marriage candidate, and here she was thinking about it.

 

“I can't have kids any more. You don't mind that, right?”

 

Cicero just laughed. “No, Listener. Cicero's never been terribly interested in parenthood. That's not why he's offering himself.”

 

Delphine nodded, stroking his hair, wishing the lump in her own throat would go away. _You might not be, but I was. I wish I'd met you ten, fifteen years ago..._ Not to mention the thought of a little Dragonborn running around. But it was far too late now. What was done was done and she just had to make the best of what remained. And what remained to her was Cicero, nestled in her arms and all hers.

 

“We've got a World-Eater to defeat and an Emperor to kill,” she said softly. “I can't think about marriage with all that going on, I just can't.”

 

Cicero bowed his head, subdued. “Cicero understands,” he sighed. “It is too soon, the timing is wrong, Delphine is not the marrying kind, not any more. Maybe Cicero would not make a very good husband anyway.”

 

“Don't say that,” said Delphine softly, fighting the sudden urge to kiss him madly and tell him yes, she'd marry him, any time he wanted. “I said we've got too much on right now. But after the world's safe and the contract's in... I'll think about it.”

 

Cicero's eyes met hers and a bright, brilliant smile split his face and then he kissed her, first on the lips then raining kisses all over her face.

 

“Listener,” he sighed. “My Listener. Cicero shall make a point of slaughtering them both for you.”

 

Delphine held on to him tight. Easier said than done in both cases and who knew if they'd survive. She pulled the covers over herself, drifting off to sleep as her Keeper-in-waiting wrapped himself protectively around her. In no way did she deserve to be this happy, not with Faida grieving and Gaius Maro lying cold and dead in a traitor's grave. But she was alive and breathing, with her man alongside her. She was loved and wanted, her passionate madman from the fires of Oblivion adoring her more than life itself, and for tonight, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And breathe. Plot resumes next time around as Delphine and Cicero hit the road, Cicero proves why he can't be left alone for a second, Eola's got a proposition of easy money for Sapphire, and Aranea needs a favour off Calixto.


	23. Pieces of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delphine's scouting Dragonsreach to see if this dragon trapping plan will actually work, but this does mean Cicero's left on his own in a built-up area without a responsible adult - never a good idea. Meanwhile Eola's got a money-making proposition for Sapphire, and Aranea needs a favour from Calixto which he may live to regret agreeing to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter were going to be one, but I decided it was too long. So now you get two instead. 
> 
> There's a violent stabbing incident early on involving Cicero but if you made it this far, it's unlikely to shock anyone.

The sun was shining over Whiterun, another beautiful day out on the tundra, although a little chilly. At least it wasn't windy for once. Not bad at all for early Sun's Dusk. 

Delphine had made her way up to Dragonsreach for a preliminary scouting visit prior to petitioning the Jarl, leaving Cicero to his own devices in the city. He'd been strictly told not to cause any trouble, and he'd cheerfully agreed that he would be a model citizen. 

“Cicero loves order!” he'd squealed. “Cicero would never disrespect the law!” Delphine had pointed out that the city of Markarth begged to differ, and please to not repeat the street rampage in Whiterun, as she was known here and had a reputation to keep up.

So Cicero had promised and now Cicero was wandering around, having poked around Warmaiden's and given their weapons and armour the once-over, impressing nice Adrianne Avenicci with actually knowing something about smithing and definitely winning Ulfberth over. Well. He thought so anyway, the big Nord hadn't actually shouted at him for dropping that greatsword so that was good, right? And he'd traded in an Elven dagger he'd helped himself to in the Thalmor Embassy for a Daedric one that he'd nearly wept to see. Of course, now he only had fifteen septims left in his pocket, but that didn't matter, Delphine had all the money anyway. Now he was hungry. Fortunately, there was a fruit and vegetable stand in the market.

“Hello, hello, good lady, might Cicero make a few purchases?” he cooed. “Cicero is partial to carrots. They're red. Like his hair! Cicero likes red.”

Carlotta Valentia glared at him, having had enough men of Whiterun trying to get her attention lately. While this one was preferable to the usual Nords offering to show her what a real man could do, Cyrodiilian charm and flattery wasn't a lot better.

“Three septims each for the carrots,” Carlotta snapped. “But if you're after anything other than fruit and vegetables, forget it. I'm not interested.”

Not interested? Cicero blinked in confusion, then promptly blushed.

“No! No! Cicero is spoken for! Cicero was not intending that!” Cicero cried, appalled. “Poor Cicero only wished to buy something to eat while he waits for his lovely mistress to return from her important business.” He tilted his head to one side, something nagging at his mind, some instinct that perhaps here lay... an opportunity. “Does the sweet lady have a lot of trouble from her male customers then?”

“You could say that, yeah,” Carlotta scowled, relaxing a little. “Seems being a widow and under forty is the same as putting out a big sign saying 'Take me, I'm yours!' to the men round here. I've lost count of the number of proposals I've had. Some of the men were even single. Most of them take no for an answer though, or at least they do when I threaten to stick a dagger through their ribs.”

Cicero decided he liked this Carlotta, and idly wondered if she'd ever consider packing up her stall for a more exciting career. The girl next to her looked to be about the Aretino child's age, it would be nice for him to have a playmate. But no. Foolish Cicero! Threatening to stab someone was not the same as actually doing it, or the Butcher and Sapphire would both have invoked the Wrath of Sithis long before now.

“Mikael's the worst though,” said Carlotta furiously. “He's the bard at the Bannered Mare. He just won't leave me alone! Constantly flirting, insisting I'm in love with him, leaving me gifts, telling everyone we're engaged, and then he wrote that book! _A Gentleman's Guide to Whiterun_ , have you read it? He told the world I was the love of his life!! Can you imagine?? I was so humiliated. The gossips didn't stop talking for months. He makes my skin crawl.”

And there it was. The perfect opening. Cicero lowered his voice and leaned in.

“Cicero is very sorry to hear that. Very sorry indeed. Truly this Mikael sounds like a despicable human being. Cicero could perhaps do something about the annoying bard... if my good lady is willing?”

“Mara, could you?” said Carlotta hopefully. “I'll happy pay you if you can talk some sense into him.”

“Dear lady,” Cicero promised, “when Cicero has finished, the bard will never trouble you again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mikael stepped out of the back of the Mare in search of the privies. Thirsty work, singing, and thirst meant mead and mead meant... well. Still, he shouldn't be long, and maybe he could stop by the market on the way back, pay a visit to Carlotta. She was still playing hard to get, but he was wearing her down, he was sure. Soon, soon, she'd surely give in.

“So you're Mikael. The writer of that... book.”

Mikael turned to see a stranger leaning against the inn, a red-haired man in a kind of tailored leather armour he'd never seen before, broad-shouldered but barely coming up to his chin, and a strange, calculating expression on his face. A fan perhaps?

“ _A Gentleman's Guide to Whiterun_?” Mikael asked. “That's right, friend. Are you enjoying the city so far?”

“Very much,” the stranger purred, stalking over with an almost feminine grace. “Your book did not do it justice. Especially as it reunited me with someone I'd almost given up hope of ever finding.”

“Happy to hear it,” said Mikael, wondering why something about this man was sending shivers down his spine. He looked harmless enough, even if he did look a bit like one of those male courtesans they had in Cyrodiil. “Who was it?”

“Why, my dearest Carlotta, of course. She was my sweetheart, you know, many years ago, but her family were killed and she had to flee Cyrodiil in a hurry. I tried, you know, tried so very hard to follow, but I didn't know where she'd gone. Not until I came to Skyrim and found your book and realised where she was. Didn't know she'd married in the mean time, but with her husband dead, she was delighted to see her Cicero again. She'd missed me. Oh yes. Very pleased she was to have her Cicero back.” Cicero's smile had broadened, and had he been talking about anyone but Carlotta, Mikael would have taken one look at that smile and fled. But love, however deluded and one-sided, had a way of making men reckless and mead only helped that process along. 

“Yours – she is not yours!” Mikael snarled, advancing. “Why in Oblivion would someone like her want someone like you? Look at you, you're pathetic. You're shorter than she is, and you're dressed like some sort of effeminate man-whore. Walk like one too.”

Cicero's eyes narrowed. “Mikael might want to curb his tongue. Those are fighting words in Cyrodiil. Is Mikael jealous that Cicero has had what he could not?”

“I'm not jealous,” Mikael growled. “Not of you, you little freak.” He advanced on Cicero, flexing his fists. 

“Fisticuffs, is it?” Cicero sighed, folding his arms and rolling his eyes. “Cicero shall wipe the floor with you then go back and sweep darling Carlotta off her feet and into bed. She'll be only too pleased to close up early and bed her Cicero, certainly if her enthusiasm last night was anything to go by – oof!” Mikael had punched him, sending him staggering back. 

“I will kill you,” Mikael hissed, “if you so much as lay a finger on her! She's mine, I tell you! Mine!”

Cicero just laughed, crazy giggling as he wiped the blood from his split lip. 

“Cicero has already laid far more than that on her, bard. Or should I say, _in_ her? Hehehehehe! I kill me!”

Mikael drew his dagger. No one around. Good. Not like anyone'd miss this one.

“No, I will,” Mikael growled, leaping for Cicero, ready to grab this man and wipe the smile from his face. Cicero just kept smiling, mysteriously sliding out of the way of Mikael's lunge. Then he was right up in Mikael's face, left arm around Mikael's shoulder almost like a lover's embrace... and his right hand clutching the hilt of a finely-crafted Daedric knife, the blade of which had dug into Mikael's chest, up and under his sternum.

“Oh...” Mikael breathed, before blood started to bubble out of his throat. Cicero, still smiling, let him go and yanked his knife out, stepping smartly out of the way of the arterial bloodspray. The last thing Mikael heard before darkness took him was Cicero singing.

“And if the bard should choose to fight, why then I'll set his clothes alight!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Delphine returned to the Mare, her reconnaissance mission successful enough. The trap was there, and it still worked, according to Irileth. The Jarl had indeed ordered it tested and repaired on the off-chance it might need to be used. The only down side was that the dragon would need to land on the balcony and then be physically lured into the porch itself before the trap could fall on it. Tricky. However, annoy anything enough and it became stupid – and Cicero was extremely good at that. It was an insane plan, but it might just work. They just needed to convince the Jarl now.

Delphine entered the inn and the first thing she noticed was how quiet it was. The second thing she noticed was Cicero sitting quietly at a corner table, reading and humming to himself as he munched on a raw carrot. Peaceful. Too peaceful.

“Hey, Cicero,” she said, sliding in to the seat opposite. “How've you been? Sorry to leave you on your own all afternoon, but I wanted to scout first, make sure this is actually possible. I think we can do it, if the Jarl agrees – hey, is that a new dagger?”

“It is, it is!” Cicero squealed, laying his copy of _Azura and the Box_ to one side and showing off the evilly carved black and red blade. “Cicero traded in a Thalmor dagger for it.”

“And the rest,” Delphine breathed. “Talos, Cicero, do you have any money left?? I know you brought back a lot of loot from Alftand, but...”

“Oh, Delphine should not worry about poor Cicero's finances. Cicero has sufficient septims about his person to cover most things.” Cicero seemed utterly unworried, and while Cicero had brought back many valuable things back from the various missions he'd been on, Delphine also knew full well he handed most of it over to her, insisting that Cicero really needed very little and his Listener was far better placed to make use of the coin, what with assassins to pay and supplies to buy. Sweet boy... but not a wealthy one, usually in possession of no more than 500 septims maximum at any one time. That dagger would have taken all of it, surely, even with an Elven one traded in. She took a closer look at the dagger and sure enough, when she examined it in detail, there was a tell-tale flake of dried blood still lingering in the blade's ornate serrations.

“Oh gods, Cicero. I can't leave you alone for a second, can I? You promised me! You promised me you would be a law-abiding citizen for once. For the love of Talos, please tell me no one saw.” She could cheerfully throttle him right now, especially when he was sitting across from her pouting, as if he was an innocent wronged victim.

“Cicero was perfectly law-abiding,” said Cicero, sounding almost wounded at the insinuation he might have been the guilty party. “Cicero merely had a conversation, and the gentleman in question became very irate and drew his dagger, trying to stab poor innocent Cicero. Cicero had to defend himself and it's not his fault he was quicker than the other man. Personally, Cicero thinks he had been drinking.”

Delphine placed her head in her hands, giving up on arguing. Trust Cicero to keep to the strict letter of his word and simultaneously completely break it.

“You are in so much trouble later on,” Delphine hissed. “As soon as we're back in the Sanctuary, you are getting a good hiding, young man.”

Cicero grinned, squirming gleefully in his seat. “Ooh, sweet Mistress, you're such a tease! Cicero is already looking forward to it.”

Delphine wondered if it was too early to start drinking. On the other hand, there was the prospect of hauling him off the road for an impromptu flogging in the open. Yes... yes, that might do nicely. He wouldn't be expecting that and the surprise and risk of someone seeing him... yes, that would work. Feeling rather more cheerful, she handed Cicero's dagger back.

“Did you at least find someone to pay you for it?”

Cicero sheathed the knife, grinning. “Oh yes. She was positively delighted to learn her unwanted admirer will no longer be bothering her, and paid Cicero handsomely for his trouble.” He reached out and took Delphine's hand, kissing the back of it before nipping her fingers gently, something he'd found out quite by accident gave her goose-bumps. “So Cicero has money for a job well done, and is feeling generous. Is my lovely hungry? Cicero shall buy you dinner and some of the nicer mead. Also, the nice Grey-Mane lady had some shiny trinkets for sale and Cicero has bought one for his lady.” A sleight of hand later and Delphine was staring at a gold and sapphire ring on her finger.

“What in – Cicero!” she cried. “This must have cost you a fortune, do you have any money left?? You didn't – you in no way had to do this.”

“I wanted to,” said Cicero, serious suddenly. “In Cyrodiil, it's traditional to buy a ring for one's intended. When I told the nice Fralia what it was for, she gave me a discount. Bad luck to haggle over a betrothal ring, but if a discount is freely given, that is another matter entirely.” He kissed the back of her hand, dark eyes watching her intently. “Cicero knows his own intentions, even if you do not.” 

“Cicero, we talked about this,” said Delphine, wanting to be angry but finding it absolutely impossible. Not with him looking at her like that, all intensity and desire, the madness in hiding and even the submissive adoration reined in. “I told you, I can't give you an answer with all this hanging over us.”

“Cicero knows, beloved not-wife,” said Cicero, kissing her fingertips and flicking his tongue out, catching her fingers in his mouth for the briefest of moments, sending fire straight to her loins and drawing little keening noises from her throat. “But he wanted to give you something anyway, so that you would know he meant it. And the blue brings out your eyes and would go with your Blades armour were you presently wearing it.”

“Cicero...” said Delphine, about ready to melt by this point. “All right, I'll accept the ring. But it's not a yes, understand? We're not engaged.”

“Not a no either,” Cicero purred. “So Delphine can keep the ring until she makes her mind up, and if in the end it is no, Cicero will take the ring back. Is this well?” 

It was well. It was very well. Dinner was ordered, taken up to the room and an early night ensued.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Back in the Sanctuary, and the Karthspire Brotherhood had taken Delphine's instruction to amuse themselves quite literally. Chores had been done, Calixto had been very assiduous in acquiring a couple more corpses for Aventus to practice stabbing, and everyone was taking it easy.

Sapphire sat in the main room, nudging at the blade shards they'd found in Falkreath Sanctuary. Clearly from some kind of dagger, and they fitted together easily enough. But with no hilt, Sapphire was never going to be able to use it and that saddened her.

“Hey Saffie,” Eola slid into the seat next to her, sly grin in place. “Wanna make some easy gold?”

Sapphire had been a thief long enough to know that there was no such thing as making easy gold, not when it was someone else's scheme. On the other hand... gold.

“Doing what?” Sapphire asked. Eola pointed to the shards. 

“I know what those are. Even better, I've got a buyer for them. Want in?”

Now that had Sapphire's full attention. “You do? Well, what are they?”

Eola pulled out a tattered notebook. “Got given a flier by this courier in Whiterun about some museum in Dawnstar. Was heading Pale-wards anyhow, so went up there to have a look. Turns out some Imperial has a museum dedicated to the Mystic Dawn cult that killed Uriel Septim.”

“Takes all sorts,” said Sapphire, raising an eyebrow. “Did he have any useful assassination tips?”

“Not really,” said Eola. “Not a lot there, to be honest. Few bits of parchment, some old banners... but he had a job for us and some info.” She tapped the notebook. “Mehrunes Razor. Legendary dagger crafted by old Dagon himself. It got broken into pieces after the Oblivion Crisis, and this guy Silus, he's after them. Offering good coin if we can bring them to him.”

Sapphire stared at the shards, new respect for them forming – respect and a certain covetous want. “These are the blade shards of Mehrunes Razor!”

“Oh yeah,” said Eola, grinning. “Told me where the other pieces were as well. I'll get the pommel, it's right here in the Reach. The hilt's up in Morthal, this guy called Jorgen has it. You wanna steal it for me and take it and the shards to Dawnstar? You can have a quarter of whatever he gives you for the shards and half of whatever you get for the hilt.”

“My arse, Eola. Half of the hilt price when I did all the work?? All the hilt fee and I'll go halves on the shards.”

“What?? After all the hard work I did finding this out?” Eola pouted. “I'll take a quarter of the hilt, and go halves on the shards.”

Which still left Eola getting more of the coin than she was, given that Eola was retrieving the pommel all on her own. Still, it was the best offer she was likely to get.

“Fine, fine, I'll do it. I'll meet you at the Windpeak and we'll split the coin there. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Eola smiled. “I'll see you there.”

~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Should you really be teaching him that?” Aranea asked. The body of an Imperial courier had been tied to a pillar out on the terrace, and Aventus was cheerfully inflicting stab wounds on it.

“Why not?” Calixto asked. “He's a natural.” Aventus proved his point by shoving the corpse's head back and neatly carving the throat open. “Oh very well done, my boy, but don't forget, when they're alive, they bleed, so be sure to move or have them facing away from you so you don't get covered in the arterial spray.”

“Oh I don't mind a bit of blood,” the boy said cheerfully. 

“Yes, but the guards will when you're trying to make your getaway,” said Calixto patiently. “So make sure you slit their throats from behind. Other than that, well done. All right, we're done for the day. Go and tell Eola we've got a body needs seeing to out here and help her get it to the kitchen. If you're good, she might even let you help her butcher it.”

Aranea watched him go, feeling vaguely sickened, not just at the casual approach to violence but at the thought this no longer in any way appalled her.

“You are a terrible influence,” she told him. Calixto just shrugged.

“Boy wants to learn. Someone might as well teach him, and he could learn from worse than us. Something on your mind, Aranea?” She was looking nervous and he was almost sure it wasn't just the butchery. 

“I... I need a favour. A big one. If you don't mind.”

Interesting. Very interesting. He could swear she was blushing. Whatever it was, it was clearly important and simultaneously going involve a great deal of time and effort. She certainly would not be asking him if she had an alternative. And if he helped her out, it wasn't out of the question that she might be... grateful.

“What manner of favour did you have in mind?”

He'd not expected a five-cylindered contraption to be held out to him, four of the five filled with... well, if it wasn't blood, it looked a lot like it.

“I need to collect Elf blood,” said Aranea. “It's something I promised I'd do, and I can't just not do it. Cicero would be very upset if I just abandoned it.”

Calixto was fairly certain he didn't want to know about where Cicero fitted in to all this. “Where do I come in?” he sighed.

“I need to fill this thing with every kind of Mer blood – Altmer, Bosmer, Dunmer, Orc and Falmer. I met an old Orc on the road from Winterhold seeking to end his life in a fight, I met a Bosmer Skooma dealer just outside Whiterun, and a Thalmor patrol near here, so that's three. I ended up using some of my own for Dunmer. Which just leaves...”

“Falmer,” Calixto finished. Yes, he now saw perfectly where this was going. “You need to find and go into a Falmer hive in order to harvest some blood for this... whatever it is. And presumably you want company.”

Aranea smiled in relief. “Yes. Yes, please, if you could. I never liked Dwemer ruins in the first place, and getting shot in Alftand made me like them even less. I can't ask this of the Guardian, Sapphire's only just got better from being stabbed, Cicero and the Listener aren't here. That Shrouded armour's great for poison resistance. How about it? Markarth's built on a Dwemer ruin, if we can get in there, I bet there's Falmer if we go deep enough. And if there aren't, well, we could go find another one. I know a few other places we could try that are bound to still have a few lurking.”

Exploring dangerous Dwemer ruins filled with traps, machines and Sithis knew what else, actually seeking out the dreaded Falmer. Exactly how he wanted to spend his time. He was on the verge of telling her to go and find someone else, but found himself saying something else entirely.

“If I say no, you're just going to go on your own, aren't you?”

“If I have to,” said Aranea, lowering her eyes, a slight tremor in her voice. She was afraid, and very little really scared Aranea. Or at least, she rarely showed it if it did. A faint premonition echoed in Calixto's head, someone whispering that if he let her go alone, she wouldn't make it back.

“All right,” he sighed. “I'll come with you.”

The resulting smile lit up her face and Calixto could practically feel his loins twitch at the sight. 

“Thank you,” she said, relieved. “It'll be nice to have some company.” She patted his arm almost shyly. “We'll set out in the morning, yes?”

Calixto agreed, and watched her go, trying to work out if this was a good thing or a bad. On the one hand, extended time alone with Aranea and the distinct possibility of a grateful Dunmer mage choosing to reward him. On the other, the risk of dying horribly at the hands of the Falmer. He must be insane. Particularly as it later occurred to him, while sharpening his knives, stocking up on potions and helping himself to a Blades katana, that he was actually looking forward to it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Delphine was genuinely not looking forward to this next bit. The day had started off well enough, with Cicero fetching her breakfast and brushing her hair and helping her into her armour, but having to pretend to be surprised, shocked and appalled when the news broke that the missing bard had been found brutally murdered behind the inn had taken its toll. Cicero had not helped by inquiring if his services would be required as entertainment instead, at which point Delphine had had to physically remove him from the inn.

Now they were in Dragonsreach, up before Jarl Balgruuf himself, who had taken one look at Cicero and promptly started scowling.

“So you're still alive, Delphine. And the jester Dragonborn too. I keep hearing rumours of your... exploits. Some of them are frankly unbelievable and the ones that aren't... well, I hope they're not true.” He was looking particularly hard at Cicero as he said this. Cicero just rocked on his heels and grinned.

“I'm sure things have been greatly exaggerated, my Jarl” said Delphine, nudging Cicero to keep still.

“These things usually are,” said Balgruuf gruffly. “Well, what can I do for you? I've not forgotten the service you did in warning us about that dragon and fetching the Dragonstone for Farengar, and your man here did kill a dragon on his own, so I suppose I owe you.”

Delphine hoped for everyone's sake that the size of this favour was sufficient to cover this request. Somehow she doubted it.

“Thank you, my Jarl. Cicero and I have been looking into why dragons are returning. Sir, it's worse than you know. Alduin the World-Eater has returned and he's raising the others.”

That had Balgruuf's attention. “Alduin himself? No... surely not! Delphine, are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” said Delphine. “I've seen him, Cicero here fought him, isn't that right, Cicero?”

Cicero nodded, scowling at the memory of Alduin escaping. “Cicero fought him, yes, and survived. But he did not triumph, no – Alduin got away and we don't know where he went. Cicero will find him, though. Cicero will find him and Cicero will make him pay!”

Delphine patted Cicero's shoulder, noting with some satisfaction that the furious snarl on Cicero's face had made even a seasoned warrior like Balgruuf nervous. Proventus Avenicci had hastily backed off, positioning himself with a clear path to the door should Cicero's control snap.

“Yes, darling, I know you will. But we need to find him first. Jarl Balgruuf, we need your help if we're to find Alduin and stop him.”

Balgruuf had sat up, giving them his full attention. “Delphine, I'd be happy to help, but I'm not sure what you think I can do. It's not like I know where he might be hiding.”

“No, but his allies will,” said Delphine. “We need to find and capture a dragon so we can interrogate it and find out. For that... we need Dragonsreach.”

Balgruuf stared at her, before bursting out laughing. “I'm sorry, I must be going a little deaf in my old age – for a moment there, I thought you were asking me if you could trap a dragon in my palace.”

“That's right!” Cicero piped up cheerily, ignoring the glare he was getting from Delphine. “We need to lure a dragon here and get it into your dragon trap. Like Numinex and Olaf!”

“Are you out of your minds??” Balgruuf roared. “Bring a dragon? Here? And to try and capture it alive?? You could burn down half my city trying that!”

“I know,” said Delphine, gritting her teeth. “Believe me, if there was another way, we'd try it, but we've got no other choice. Please, my Jarl, we have to find Alduin, and soon, before he can come back and kill us all.”

“Of course, and I suppose while that dragon's burning down the city, Ulfric Stormcloak's just going to sit around waiting, and not take advantage at all, isn't he? No, Delphine, absolutely not. Not while the war's on. You persuade Ulfric and Tullius to agree to a truce, and I'll think about it. Not before.”

With that, they were dismissed. Delphine and Cicero ended up standing on the steps leading up to Dragonsreach, at a bit of a loss – or at least, Delphine was. Cicero had no such reservations.

“Now can Cicero kill Jarl Balgruuf?” he asked hopefully.

“No!” Delphine snapped. “I need to think. I need to think about how in the world I'm meant to get Tullius and Ulfric to sit down and agree a peace deal.”

“Would you like Cicero to kill them instead?” Cicero offered. “Ulfric can't attack Whiterun with his throat cut...”

“No!” said Delphine firmly. She hadn't always seen eye to eye with Ulfric but she had a lot of respect for him. She really wouldn't want to have to kill him without a contract being in force. Dammit. This was looking more impossible by the second. She vaguely remembered tales the Blades had told about the Brotherhood of old, how they'd been so feared, they'd been able to exert their will on politics simply by breaking in to bedrooms of leaders and leaving a dagger on the pillow, a warning that if they didn't knuckle down and do as asked, next time the dagger would be in their chest. Pity she couldn't do that to Ulfric... or could she?

“Cicero. I know how we're going to do this.”

“Oooh! Cicero knew you would think of something, sweet Mistress. What are we doing? Does it involve sneaking and stabbing? Please say yes!”

“Afraid not,” Delphine told him. “But I do have an important job for you. It involves talking to the Greybeards. Reckon they'll help you?”

“Probably,” said Cicero. After all, Paarthurnax liked him so Arngeir would probably agree to help poor Cicero, right? “What does my sweetling want me to do?”

Delphine beckoned him closer and outlined the plan. Cicero squealed and danced on the spot, applauding Delphine's cleverness and exclaiming what a brilliant plan it was. Delphine was rather flattered, but the truth was, it would be very very easy for things to go very very wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Give me the pommel stone.”

Drascua howled and tried to reach behind to scratch at the young woman currently clinging to her back, Elven dagger at her throat, but to no avail. Damn Madanach for setting up this... arrangement... with the sons of Sithis. Drascua would have his head – if that is, she kept her own.

“No,” Drascua snarled. “It is a sacred responsibility of my family line to keep it safe. I am not giving it to you!”

“Perhaps I wasn't clear enough,” said Eola. “Give. Me. The. Stone. Or I will gut you and burn the remains on your own altar.”

“You, a Reachwoman, would draw blades on a Matriarch?” Drascua growled. “How dare you. The gods will have your head for this. Don't tell me there's a contract out on me – you'd have killed me by now if there was.” Hag claws lashed out and raked Eola's side, causing the girl to loosen her grip just enough for Drascua to throw her off.

Eola fell, rolled to one side and scrambled to her feet before the twin fireballs could hit her. Cicero had taught her well. She was on her feet and casting lightning back at the Hag in seconds.

“No Mother but the Night Mother,” Eola intoned. “You and I know there's no contract, but the rest of them don't. And the Listener will never comment on Brotherhood business to outsiders.”

“She will comment when I send her your severed head on a spear!” Drascua roared, sending more fire at Eola. This time some of it caught her, but Eola's magical resistance spared her from most of the damage, and it did recharge her magicka sufficiently for Eola to get her mage armour on.

“You gotta take it off me first,” Eola growled, summoning a Flame Atronach. Battle commenced in earnest, Destruction spells flying everywhere, lightning and fire raining down over the hilltop, Forsworn in the valley below cowering. They'd seen Eola's Shrouded Armour, they knew what it meant. Sithis coming to claim Drascua for the Void. None of them would dare interfere. 

Of course that did mean Eola could expect no help either. Not to mention that Soul Gem fire trap of Drascua's was pretty lethal too. Of course, her Atronach didn't mind that at all, and Eola was fast enough to dive out of the way of the flames and snatch the gems for herself. Finally, it was all over. Drascua sent lightning at Eola, Eola returned with dual-cast fire, Drascua staggered back into the Word Wall and Eola sprang forward, crashing sword-first into the Hagraven and skewering her into the stone. Eola fell back, gasping for breath as the Hag breathed her last.

_Namira have mercy, I just killed a Hagraven. A damn Matriarch._ The old gods would strike her down, if the Forsworn didn't... then she glanced down at her armour and laughed. _I'm one of Sithis' children now._ No one would lay a finger on one of the Dread Father's priestesses. Death came to everyone, and they were death incarnate. No Reachman would even raise a finger against her. Pausing only to retrieve the pommel stone and copy down the characters on the Word Wall for Cicero, she left. Time to find Sapphire and get some coin for all this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Underneath Markarth, in the ruins of Nchuand-Zel, mage-fire blazed, arrows fired, and finally a Blades katana stabbed Nimhe the giant spider in the face and it fell dead.

Calixto wiped blood and sweat from his face, already tired and they'd not even got into the city itself yet. Aranea at least had the decency to look a little guilty at dragging him into this.

“I hate spiders,” said Calixto vehemently. “I _really_ hate spiders.”

“I am very sorry,” said Aranea apologetically. “I didn't know it would be quite that big. Are you alright? Do you need healing? If you want to go home now, I won't hold it against you.”

“Would you be coming with me or would you be carrying on this insane mission on your own?” Calixto asked wearily, already knowing what the answer would be. 

“I need to do this,” said Aranea, staring at the ground. “I promised I would help a lonely old madman, and Cicero knows I promised, and you know how he gets.”

“I know,” sighed Calixto. “Trust Cicero to feel sorry for a lonely old madman. Well, we had better not upset the dear Jester, had we? Come on, let's go find you a Falmer.”

Aranea smiled, clearly relieved and yes, very grateful, and if she would keep smiling at him like that and possibly follow it up with some rather more physical appreciation, he would not complain at all, not in the slightest.

Following her lead, he headed into Nchuand-Zel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

According to Aranea, it was rare to find Falmer in the upper levels of a Dwemer city – the automatons generally kept them confined to the deeper levels. It was a bit of a surprise then to come across one within minutes of entering the city. One bow-shot and a bit of lightning later, and it was dead – of course, Aranea's magic wasn't the most subtle of things and it meant there were soon rather more to deal with. Calixto could only silently thank Sapphire for the job she'd done on the armour – the poisoned blades of the Falmer would have done for him otherwise. As it was, he was still skilled enough to take them down, with Aranea's magic slicing through the air to kill at a distance. Finally, the city was quiet and Aranea was harvesting blood from a still warm corpse.

“Is that it? Are we done?” he asked hopefully. The sombre look on Aranea's face was not what he wanted to see.

“They shouldn't be here. Not in the upper levels like this. Not in such numbers. Why aren't the machines keeping them at bay?”

“They must have rusted. Aranea, can we go? We have the blood. We've killed them all. Let's go.”

“We can't,” said Aranea miserably. “There's more of them down here, I'm sure. They were roaming pretty freely up here. All that was keeping them from Markarth was a locked door and the spiders. Well, we just killed the spiders and once the digging resumes, that door will be open. We've just handed an entire city over to the Falmer.”

_And I should care because?_ Except he did, dammit. Not just because of the lost business. Not just because Delphine would assuredly not want a city full of Falmer on her doorstep. Not even because it was Eola's father's would-be capital city and Eola would be devastated to have it overrun by Falmer. He cared because Aranea clearly did, and because if he helped her sort this out, she would smile again and... damn. He was clearly in a lot more trouble than he'd thought, particularly as it was slowly dawning on him that while Aranea deciding to haul him into bed would be very nice indeed, it really wasn't all that necessary and having her smile and thank him and rest her head on his shoulder would actually be quite sufficient. Damn it all to Oblivion, what was wrong with him these days?

“If I were to walk away and leave you to it,” he began, “you'd just carry on with this madness on your own, wouldn't you?”

“Afraid so,” said Aranea, beginning to grin. “Clearly you'll have to come with me, make sure I don't get myself killed.”

“Clearly,” said Calixto, rolling his eyes. “Come on, let's get off this walkway, find out what else is down here.” 

Smiling, Aranea followed him. Calixto could only hope they didn't both get killed doing this.


	24. Waking Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sapphire and Eola's little venture turns out to lead to something rather more sinister than either had suspected, while Aranea and Calixto's trip to Nchuand-Zel turns out rather well in the end. Arngeir however could wish he'd never laid eyes on Cicero, and Esbern has some news for Delphine that will shock her to the core.

Arngeir felt his heart sink as Cicero bounced into the monastery, wide grin on his face. At least last time, he'd just skipped straight through and on up the mountain to see Paarthurnax who, for reasons Arngeir couldn't even begin to fathom, had not in fact thrown Cicero off the mountainside and had actually agreed to help the madman. Meaning Arngeir was stuck with having to do the same.

“Arngeir!” Cicero trilled. “Kind Arngeir! Dear, sweet, generous, patient Arngeir! Cicero has returned, and Cicero needs your help.”

Of course. Gods forbid Cicero might show up here for any other reason.

“Cicero,” said Arngeir firmly, remaining kneeling in front of the window, determined not to get up unless he had to. Given Cicero's short height even by Imperial standards, he didn't suppose the man would mind too much. “What do you need, Dragonborn?”

“Paarthurnax has told Cicero that he needs to trap a dragon and find out where Alduin has gone,” said Cicero. “And we need to use Dragonsreach to do it. But the Jarl of Whiterun won't help!”

“I can't imagine why not,” said Arngeir dryly. “Cicero, the Greybeards do not involve themselves in worldly affairs. I cannot intercede with the Jarl for you.”

Cicero shook his head, kneeling beside Arngeir. “Oh no. Cicero does not need you to do that. The Jarl is worried that Ulfric Stormcloak might invade and attack his city while he's dealing with the dragon.”

Ah yes. Ulfric. Arngeir remembered Ulfric. A passionate and intelligent man, but headstrong and impatient with it. High Hrothgar had never suited him that well, and he'd left to, as he put it, right the world's injustices. Arngeir was not one to judge, but he wasn't at all sure Ulfric was doing that good a job. All the same, he would rather deal with Ulfric, no matter how bullheaded the man, than Cicero.

“Ulfric Stormcloak will not listen to me, Cicero. If he had, there would be no civil war in Skyrim to start with and you would not be asking me for anything. Indeed, it might even be Master Ulfric you'd be talking to now.”

Something flickered in Cicero's eyes, a little frisson of... well, Arngeir didn't really like to speculate as to what it was, but a second later it was gone.

“He will not give something for nothing, no. But a deal might be made, perhaps.”

“And what, Cicero, do you think we have to offer him,” said Arngeir, rolling his eyes. “We are a peaceful monastic order, we do not have land or riches to pay him off with, nor an army to force him to submit.”

“Tullius does,” said Cicero, a knowing look in his eye and devious grin on his face. “Mighty General Tullius could make Ulfric an offer. A bargain might be made, a negotiation held, a deal made that both sides might agree on. If they could be persuaded to sit around a table together...”

“If,” repeated Arngeir. “You ask a lot, Dragonborn.”

To his surprise, Cicero tilted his head, smiling hopefully up at Arngeir, and if Cicero had been female, Arngeir would have definitely had his expression down as that of a practised coquette. 

“Cicero asks only for a table to bring them to,” he said softly. “Arngeir need not worry about the persuading, Cicero shall take care of that. Cicero shall bring them here, make them sit together and talk. But he will need your help. Ulfric respects you, and Tullius knows you're important to the Nords. The Greybeards are neutral, the Greybeards are unbiased, they will keep to an agreement if you oversee it.”

He knew it. Knew it would be something like this. If Cicero was not trying his patience just by being here, he was asking for the sky on a platter.

“You would bring the men of war here, to this hall, to this place of peace. You would bring them here, with their bloodstained hands and their swords not yet tired of use, to this sanctuary. And to do what? Talk of peace when their hearts yearn for war? A temporary truce to prepare anew for the next bloodletting? Cicero. You ask much of us.”

Cicero had gone very quiet, his eyes lowered. When he spoke, it was in a low, quiet voice most unlike his usual high-pitched manic shrieking or indeed his more conniving voice. This one... this sounded almost like the man Cicero could have been, if his life had gone altogether differently. A decent human being well-hidden in the murder and madness.

“Cicero's hands are not clean of blood, Arngeir. And yet you tolerate his presence.”

“You are Dragonborn. It is different. Paarthurnax has agreed to help you, and so are we bound. Also, as you said yourself once, if no one ever shows you wisdom, how are you to learn it? If I turn you away for good, how can I ever hope for your redemption?”

“It is a little late for that,” said Cicero, folding himself into a cross-legged position. Arngeir looked up, meeting Cicero's eyes, seeing genuine regret there. Surprising. _You are a very complicated man, Dragonborn._

“It's never too late,” said Arngeir gently, patting the younger man's arm. A flicker of a smile at Cicero's lips, then he was serious again.

“It is for me, Arngeir. But you distract me! You distract poor, foolish Cicero with your clever words. This peace conference. Will you hold it? Cicero is unlikely to leave much of a legacy in this world, but if you could help him with this, it would be something.”

“Peace?” said Arngeir scornfully. “The Stormcloak will not easily lay down his blade and from what I hear, the Empire will not easily forgive him for defying them. Do not call it peace, Cicero. It will not last.”

“Maybe not,” said Cicero. “But if we can stop the war for a time... men and women who might otherwise have died might instead live. Does Arngeir not think that a good thing?”

Now this was a surprise. Arngeir stared at Cicero, before actually smiling.

“Good gods, Dragonborn. Is that wisdom coming from your mouth? There is hope for you yet.”

“Cicero tries, sir,” said Cicero, eyes lowered. This was most uncharacteristic of him, but Arngeir wasn't going to complain.

“Very well, Cicero. If you can bring them here and persuade them to negotiate in good faith, I will host these talks for you. I cannot promise what the outcome will be, but I will do my best.”

Cicero's serious expression cracked and died like a bottle smashed in a tavern fight. The jester shrieked in delight and flung his arms around Arngeir.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” he cried, leaping to his feet and capering about on the spot. “Cicero is so pleased! Otherwise Cicero would have had to fall back on his other plan and assassinate Ulfric Stormcloak, and that would have been a terrible waste. Not when Ulfric has so many enemies and not a one has offered poor Cicero any money for the deed. Of course, Cicero may still have to do that if he proves... uncooperative. But Cicero is merciful! Cicero will give him a chance to not end up with a dagger in his ribs. See, Arngeir, Cicero is learning!”

Kynareth preserve him. He should have known it was too good to be true. On the other hand, for Cicero to relegate the assassination strategy to a back-up plan was some sort of moral development, he supposed.

“Yes, I suppose you are,” Arngeir sighed, giving up on attempting to reason with him. “Well, Cicero, we had best get this over with, if we are to do this. Solitude and Windhelm are a long way from here. You should probably set out straight away if you are to talk to them both.”

Mercifully, Cicero took the hint and cheerfully bade Arngeir goodbye. Arngeir waved him off before sinking into a chair, wondering just what he'd got himself into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_I will kill Eola when she finally shows up._ Easy money, she said. Just a little bit of thieving then visit the buyer, get the gold and sit around in the inn with her feet up while she waited. And true, that had all been easy. 

That was before she'd found out about the nightmares. The nightmares that didn't normally affect travellers, according to the innkeeper. Hah. Two nights she'd been here now, and each one had been afflicted with the same dream of death and murder and torture and rape, memories of that horrific fortnight in that bandit camp replaying over and over. To make matters worse, Sapphire's memories of nice things were fading. She couldn't remember what Aranea felt like in her arms – she knew intellectually that they'd shared a bed, shared many things, but she couldn't remember it. That distressed her more than the nightmares did. She wasn't the only one either – the entire town was suffering. It wasn't normal, couldn't be, and all that priest could tell them was that if they trusted in Lady Mara, all would be well. Sapphire had never been a religious woman, but honestly it looked like Lady Mara was doing fuck all from where she was sitting.

“Hey Saffie, how've you been?”

Sapphire could have cheerfully kissed the girl.

“Eola. Thank Sithis. Here, take the gold. I counted it. It's all there. Have you taken the stone down to that Silus guy yet? If not, let's get it over with and get out of this horrible place.”

“That bad?” Eola asked sympathetically. “I know it's the arse-end of Skyrim, but it's not the worst place in the world, is it? It's practically a hub of culture and commerce next to Winterhold.”

“Does Winterhold afflict you with horrible nightmares every time you go to sleep?” Sapphire said, staring wildly at Eola. “Do you realise you've forgotten things that you never thought you would? Do you wake up scared and exhausted there and realise you don't remember what your lover looks like naked any more??”

“No, can't say it ever had that effect – Namira, Saf, are you alright?”

“No!” cried Sapphire, finally feeling tears in her eyes. “This town's cursed! Nightmares, the whole place has nightmares every night, horrible, horrible nightmares, and they say travellers don't get them, but I did. I want to go home, Eola. Please, get me out of here. Please.”

Eola put her arms around Sapphire, feeling dread settle into her stomach. She'd stayed overnight last time she'd been here, and heard a couple of people complaining but thought nothing of it. She'd had a job at the Nightgate to get to, and she'd not dreamed a damn thing. But nightmares every night, for everyone in town, and loss of memories too? Not good. Then another memory, of Cicero talking quietly about his past and mentioning hiding out at an abandoned Sanctuary in Dawnstar... and how his nightmares had been worse while he was there and that while he never forgot a face, he couldn't remember his old Sanctuary friends from Cyrodiil any more, not as well as he once did. He'd laughed it off, said it didn't matter, he had a new Sanctuary now, new brothers and sisters, but something had made him decide it wasn't safe to linger in Dawnstar. Eola had a feeling this may have been it – and something in her smouldered in fury at the thought of her beloved brother, her already damaged and broken Cicero being made worse by whatever was hanging over Dawnstar.

“We will get to the bottom of this,” said Eola, already thinking. “Does anyone know anything, know how long it's been going on, tried investigating? Any suspicious looking people in or near town who might be, you know, into the black arts or Daedra worship or something?”

“What, apart from our Mythic Dawn cultist buyer?” Sapphire laughed. “It's not him. He looked as haggard as anyone and admitted at least part of why he had the museum going was in the hope of maybe finding a solution. Court mage doesn't seem to know anything either. And that priest of Mara's next to useless.”

Said priest of Mara was trying in vain to reassure a couple of mine workers that all was quite well and there was nothing to worry about. Eola raised an eyebrow and reached into her pack for the Book of Daedra, flicking through its pages.

“What you looking at – the Book of Daedra? You really think – well, you'd know, I suppose,” said Sapphire, peering over Eola's shoulder. She watched as Eola flicked through, dismissing one after the other – not Namira, not Azura, not Meridia, too subtle and insidious to be Molag Bal, Malacath or old Dagon, could be Mephala or possibly Boethiah, not showy enough for Sheogorath, not fun enough for Sanguine, not Hircine's style at all – then at the very end of the book, Vaermina's entry fell open. Vaermina, Daedric Prince of dreams and nightmares.

“Well, I'll be damned,” Sapphire breathed. “Dawnstar's been taken over by a Daedra Lord. That's not good. Say, didn't Cicero used to live up here...?”

“Yes,” said Eola tersely. “Saff, you and me are going to have a word with this priest. Man knows something, I can tell. Might be worshipping Mara now – but I don't think that was always the case.”

Sapphire looked at the priest with new eyes, appraising him like she would a mark. Eola was right. Guilt written all over him if you knew to look for it, and the mace at his side was not for mere decoration.

“Come on then,” said Sapphire. “Let's go find out what he knows.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aranea blasted the Dwarven Sphere to the ground while Calixto raised a dead Falmer and pointed it at the Dwemer spiders advancing towards them. They'd successfully battled the Falmer and reactivated the Dwemer automatons – and now had to fight their way past them too. Still, could be worse. At least the reactivated Centurion was going for the Falmer, not them.

Aranea grabbed Calixto by the wrist, making for a winding path that led up to the entrance. He was only too glad to follow her. Next time she suggested anything quite this insane, he was staying home and sending the jester instead. He was getting too old for this sort of thing. Let Karthspire's resident madman handle it. Except even as he followed in her wake, leaping down onto the exit walkway and racing for the doors, he knew that deep inside, he'd do it again if she asked him.

Finally, they staggered back into the dig site, slamming the door behind them. Calixto sank back against it, Dwemer metal at his back as he sank to the floor, done in. He closed his eyes, feeling warmth on his skin as Aranea joined him, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. She'd taken her cowl down and her reddish-gold hair streamed over his armour.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I don't think I could have done that alone.”

“You're welcome,” said Calixto, shifting his arm so it settled around her, making it easier for her to snuggle in to him. “If you must do these insane things, you might as well have company.”

“Oh, it's not the most insane thing I've ever done,” said Aranea, her tone light but her posture just a little tense.

“No? You do surprise me. So what was the most insane thing then?”

“Tracking down a serial killer, and rather than either killing him or turning him in, actually helping him with his forbidden rituals and then recruiting him for the Dark Brotherhood. It's not the most insane thing I'll ever do, but so far it's top of the list.”

Calixto laughed, tightening his grip on her. “Oh I don't know, it worked out rather well from my perspective. Admittedly, it has landed me with a Dunmer mage with a penchant for trouble but it's a small price to pay really.” 

Aranea just smiled. “Count yourself lucky that contract didn't go to Cicero. Aren't you glad you never woke up tied to the bed with him grinning at you?”

Now there was an image he never wanted in his head. “Aranea, my dear, if he had tried to sell me back my own amulet, I would either have stabbed him on the spot or fled the city in terror. He gave me the creeps when I first met him and he still does.”

“I thought you liked him,” Aranea said, pouting. She'd always been respectful of the little madman, Calixto knew that, but after returning from Winterhold, she'd been positively friendly to him, referring to him as brother on more than one occasion. It was a bit worrying, for several reasons.

“I do,” said Calixto. “But he's a murdering little lunatic with no morals or scruples about anything.”

“Says who exactly?” Aranea had raised an eyebrow at this. All right, perhaps that hadn't been the best criticism to make.

“I'm perfectly sane,” Calixto protested. He might be evil, yes, but mad, not in the slightest. So many people got those two things confused...

“Cicero also thinks he's sane,” said Aranea, which did not help Calixto's mood. Time for a little misdirection.

“Talking of insanity, you said that recruiting me's the most insane thing you've done so far... but not the maddest thing you'll ever do.” He noticed a faint blush on her cheeks as he spoke. An interesting reaction. Worth exploring this further. “So what exactly is the maddest thing you're ever likely to do? I ask purely so that I might be in some way forewarned when you finally do spring it on me.”

Aranea went very still, her face changing to an expression of cool determination that could mean anything.

“Recruiting a murdering necromancer serial killer for the Dark Brotherhood... and then doing this.” Before Calixto could react, she was kissing him, full on the lips, arms around him, the most adorable little sighs coming from her. Of course he had to kiss her back, it would be rude not to, and when he hauled her into his lap and started sliding hands under her robes, she didn't object in the slightest, in fact she was soon encouraging him to shed his own armour. It wasn't long before she was straddling him, taking him inside her and writhing in his lap as he pulled her to him, squeezing that gorgeous arse of hers as he kissed her frankly unbelievable tits. All told, this had gone so very much better than expected. It was hard and fast sex, urgent and hurried and soon over, ending with her draped all over him, both exhausted.

“We probably shouldn't stay here,” said Aranea, still breathless. “Don't know who might come looking.”

“Agreed,” Calixto murmured, giving her one last kiss before lifting her off him and pulling his armour back on. “Back to the Sanctuary, hot bath and a warm bed, yes?”

“Azura, yes,” said Aranea, hastily dressing. Time enough to break the next part of the job to him. Right now, she just wanted to get home and make up for lost time. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“So where in Oblivion are they all?” said Delphine, tapping her foot. “I know I said they could amuse themselves for a few days, but I didn't think they'd all vanish!”

“I wish I knew,” said Esbern, shrugging. “Aventus spends his nights here but most of his days out with the Forsworn children. So far no one has taken him out on patrol, but I suspect it's only a matter of time. Aranea and Calixto have headed into Markarth – something about exploring the Dwemer ruins there. I'd almost think it was a romantic little holiday, but Aranea hates Dwemer ruins.”

Indeed. After hearing about what Alftand had been like, Delphine was having trouble understanding why anyone would want to go anywhere near one in the first place, never mind go back. 

“What about Eola and Sapphire? Don't tell me they've decided they're a couple now too.” Delphine told herself the instant disapproving urges she was feeling at that concept were entirely due to it not being healthy for everyone to start pairing off.

“No, no,” said Esbern. “Apparently Eola found a buyer for those shards Sapphire's obsessed with, and they've gone off to make some easy money.”

“But they're coming back soon, right?” said Delphine. “Right?”

“I'm sure they will, Eola didn't seem to think it would take long,” Esbern reassured her. “Delphine, I have the dragon name you were after.” He pushed a scroll over to her. 

“Odahviing,” Delphine read. “Right-hand dragon of Alduin himself, promoted to that rank after the treachery of Paarthurnax, one of the first killed when the first Blades came to Tamriel. And presumably one of the first raised when Alduin came back. You think he's our guy?”

“I think he will come, yes,” said Esbern. “He's powerful, headstrong, almost certain to know where this portal to Sovngarde is – and it seems he initially resisted Alduin, only submitting after being beaten in a fight. Presumably he was loyal enough after that, but it's also clear he submitted only because he knew Alduin was the stronger, because Alduin had never been defeated. It's strength he respects. Now Cicero's proven himself stronger than Alduin. I think Odahviing will come, out of curiosity if nothing else. He'll want to see the mortal who sent Alduin packing. He'll likely want to test his own strength too – if he can defeat Cicero, that essentially will mean he has the right to lead. He won't turn that down in a hurry.” 

Delphine felt a little stab of fear go through her at the thought of Cicero being defeated. _Not my boy. Not my little he-daedra._

“He won't beat my Cicero,” said Delphine fiercely. “This Odahviing won't know what hit him.”

“I have no doubt that Cicero can kill virtually anything,” said Esbern. “But you're trying to capture him, not kill him. Is Cicero up to that?”

“If you mean, can he annoy Odahviing sufficiently that he runs after Cicero and straight into the dragon trap, yes Esbern, he's more than up to that.”

Esbern had to laugh at that. Truly, there was very little that Cicero couldn't annoy, aggravate and provoke when he put his mind to it – and he was quite capable of getting under most people's skin without even trying.

“I can believe that, Delphine. But are you sure he will do it? Can we trust him, Delphine?”

What an odd question. Delphine frowned at Esbern, honestly confused. Cicero might be murderously insane, but he was one of the most loyal people Delphine had ever known.

“Of course we can. Esbern, I'd trust him with my life. You saw him before we left, he was so excited about the whole thing, still is. Why, has he said something to you? Done something?”

“It's what he hasn't said that's the problem,” Esbern sighed, his whole demeanour sombre, as if he was about to break some very bad news. “Delphine, you'd better sit down.”

Delphine lowered herself into the other chair in Esbern's study, suddenly feeling queasy. Esbern had discovered something, and she had a horrible feeling she wasn't going to like it.

“What is it?” she asked. Esbern tapped the scroll with Odahviing's details on it. 

“The treachery of Paarthurnax. I was curious about what it referred to, so I went to see if we had anything on him.”

“And?” Delphine asked. Esbern produced another scroll, passing it over. 

“Paarthurnax. Younger brother of Alduin. As bad in his own way, if not worse. Responsible for death and destruction on a vast scale, until something happened. The sources aren't sure what, but they think it was a power struggle, that Paarthurnax challenged Alduin for lordship and lost, but wasn't killed. It seems Paarthurnax had his own following of mortals, separate from the Dragon Cult, and they were fanatical in protecting him. No one knows why or what sort of hold he had over his followers, but they were willing to defend him to the death. Always he was one step ahead of the ancient Blades, always avoiding combat. True, his predation on humanity seemed to stop after he fled from Alduin, but I'm sure that was just to avoid detection. He's clearly been biding his time, waiting for Alduin to finally slip up.”

Esbern's use of the present tense did not escape Delphine's notice. “Wait, you mean he's still out there?? Alive? After all this time?”

Esbern nodded gravely. “I'm afraid so. He must have known Alduin would come back and remained in hiding, waiting for his return. Delphine, I very much fear that once Alduin is gone, we may have another threat to deal with.”

That was bad. Very bad. On the other hand, at least Paarthurnax was just an ordinary dragon from the sounds of it, which meant Cicero shouldn't have too many problems bringing him down, right?

“How has a dragon managed to survive all this time?” said Delphine, still reeling. “How has no one noticed? How did the Blades not know??”

“They did,” said Esbern. “Or at least, some of them did. It seems it was a closely guarded secret. As Paarthurnax wasn't actively attacking human settlements, it was decided to just keep watching and waiting until the moment was right to strike. Paarthurnax's human protectors were too well-respected by society at large to move against – the Blades couldn't risk the backlash.”

So this dragon still had his own cult. That made sense – he'd never have managed to survive without help. But well-respected? She couldn't even begin to imagine which well-known, well-respected faction was hiding a dragon.

“So where is he then?” Delphine asked. “Who's protecting him? No one's so well-respected the Dark Brotherhood can't touch them.”

Esbern pointed to a note towards the end of the scroll. “They say he has his _strunmah_ , that's his resting place or home, on top of the Monahven, guarded by the followers of Jurgen Windcaller. The Throat of the World, Delphine.”

“The _Greybeards_ are protecting a dragon?” Delphine had to laugh at that. It was ridiculous. “Oh come on, Esbern. How can there be a dragon at the top of the Throat? Cicero's been there, he's spoken with the Greybeards, he's their protegee. There's no way he couldn't have known, and he's not said a word about a dragon up there.” She felt her laughter die as she saw the look on Esbern's face... one of pity. “Esbern, no, he wouldn't. There's some mistake, there has to be, Monahven could mean anything, Jurgen Windcaller had some other cult following as well, Cicero wouldn't lie to me, he would have said, Esbern, please.” She could feel the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as certain little slips of the tongue Cicero had made came coming back to her, how on at least one occasion he'd nearly said 'he' instead of they when talking about the Greybeards, about how she knew he'd been hiding something and even after he'd confessed to disobeying her and running away to explore Nordic ruins, he'd still seemed guilty. And of course, she'd wondered at the time why the Greybeards had taken it into their heads to teach him how to breathe fire, why any sane man, mer or beastkin might think Cicero needed making any more dangerous. Well, they hadn't, had they? _Cicero, you scheming, devious little bastard._

“Oh my god,” she whispered, heart breaking inside. “He lied to me. He knew and he kept it from me. I thought... how could he?”

“I'm so sorry, Delphine,” said Esbern softly, squeezing her hand. Delphine was too wound up to even notice. 

“How could he?” she cried. “He pulled a damn knife on me when he found out I'd not been entirely honest with him, and he does this?? What else has he lied to me about, Esbern? What else isn't he telling me? I thought – I thought I could trust him. I know he's unpredictable and a bit manipulative and prone to misbehave, and dear Talos never let him get bored unless you want a body on your hands, but I didn't think... I never... I thought I could at least rely on him to have my back. I thought he loved me, Esbern!” Her voice cracked and broke and then the tears were falling in earnest as all the certainties in her world, all the things she'd been relying on to keep her sane and stable fell away and she found herself sobbing her heart out on Esbern's shoulder. Esbern had his arms around her, rubbing her back and holding her as she cried.

“Delphine, I know it's hard... but it may not be quite as bad as that,” said Esbern gently.

“He lied to me,” said Delphine, too broken to think of anything else. “Bastard lied to my face and I didn't even know. That bloody dragon, this Paarthurnax, whatever mind trick he used on his followers and on the Greybeards, he's done the same thing to my little jester, to my Cicero. He's turned him against me. We've lost him, Esbern. We've lost the Dragonborn. Soon as Alduin's dead, he'll join with Paarthurnax, turn on the rest of the world, and I don't know if we can stop him.”

“Delphine,” said Esbern firmly. “Delphine, stop. I admit I don't know Cicero as well as you, but I've seen enough of him to form an opinion. I don't think he's lost to us, not yet. This is the man who spent twelve years tending to the Night Mother, never abandoning her, never losing hope that she might speak to him one day, never giving up on finding a Listener. This is a man whose life is the Dark Brotherhood. I never thought I'd say this, but that might actually be a good thing. Paarthurnax might be strong, but I don't think even he can overwrite Cicero's devotion to the Night Mother... or to her Listener. To you. Delphine, I think Cicero does genuinely love you. When I first saw you two together, I saw the way he acted around you. Saw the way he looked at you. It wasn't the expression of a man who was just stringing you along. I've seen the two of you together since and nothing in his manner has ever given me the impression he doesn't care about and respect you. Delphine, you single-handedly talked him out of killing me – no, you didn't even persuade him. You ordered him – and he obeyed. He stayed his hand, and has kept his hand stayed, despite having opportunities not to. He could have killed me in Cidhna Mine and claimed another prisoner had done it. He did not. Delphine, he is not entirely lost to us. It is possible he too has been lied to or misled.”

“Maybe,” said Delphine softly. She didn't entirely believe it – Cicero had intentionally lied to her, and the only reason she could think of for him doing that was because he knew she'd disapprove. Still, she'd take any crumb of comfort she could. “But I can't trust him any more. Not until... not unless... not unless he can prove to me he's not under some dragon mind control spell. If he's just been misled or deceived or doesn't know what Paarthurnax really is... then I think I can forgive him. If he can prove he's still the Night Mother's.” _If he's still the Night Mother's, he's still the Listener's. Still mine._

“A reasonable decision,” said Esbern approvingly. “Yes, if he can kill Paarthurnax, that would demonstrate beyond doubt he wasn't being mind controlled at least. I don't suppose he'll like it though.”

“No,” Delphine whispered. “But he's Dark Brotherhood to the core. He won't refuse a kill order, and he'll get over it eventually. I'll make it up to him, I'll do anything he likes, if I can be sure he's still mine.”

“I think he's still yours,” Esbern reassured her. “He wouldn't fuss over you like he does if he didn't care.”

Delphine looked at the betrothal ring on her finger, feeling hollow inside. He wouldn't spend all his spare coin on an expensive ring if he didn't care... but she couldn't be entirely sure it wasn't a very pricey way of manipulating her either. Cicero had never really cared about money, after all, and who knew what he'd do to keep the Listener pliable. Shivering, she slipped the ring off her finger and pocketed it. There was absolutely no way this was going to end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Delphine. Learn to trust your damn boyfriend for once! Admittedly this would have been a lot easier if Cicero had just been honest in the first place...
> 
> Next up, Daedric artefacts, massive awkwardness, the beginning of the Season Unending negotiations, and Cicero picking a fight with a Jarl.


	25. Season Unending Part 1: Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Eola thought adventuring with Sapphire meant a break from travelling with a murderous troublemaker... she was wrong. Meanwhile, Delphine's got to face Cicero while knowing he's covering for Paarthurnax - and he's not the idiot he pretends to be. All this and persuade Ulfric Stormcloak to come to a peace conference too. How hard can it be?

Eola and Sapphire glared at each other over the body of the dead Dunmer priest.

“What did you kill him for??” Eola shouted. “He was going to destroy the Skull! No more nightmares!”

“He was going to take it for himself and betray us!” Sapphire shouted back. “All this – it was his fault! Him and his... friends. They took my memories, Eola. All my memories of Aranea – gone.”

“Which means the Skull can still feed and we're stuck with it,” Eola sighed. “We can't leave it here. Namira, if this thing starts feeding off us all at the Sanctuary – if Cicero starts getting the nightmares again, or Sithis help us, Del starts losing memories...”

“It won't come to that,” said Sapphire quickly. “You heard what Erandur said, it's feeding itself because no one feeds it. All you have to do is keep it charged.”

“Oh, so it's my problem now, is it?” said Eola, glaring.

“It's Daedric magecraft. Figured you'd have more use for it than me,” said Sapphire. “It's a powerful staff from the look of it.”

Eola did have to admit it looked impressive. She picked it up and waved it experimentally, jumping as she saw a rather deadly wave of energy blast out from it.

“See?” said Sapphire, looking a bit too smug for her own good. “Now you too can be a kick-ass battlemage.”

“You mean I wasn't already?” Eola pouted, shouldering the Skull. She supposed it was worth keeping – Namira knew she didn't want it in anyone else's hands. She could always hide it over at the Shrine of Namira if she needed to. “Come on, let's get this pommel stone sold and get out of here. Best not keep Silus waiting.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A day later, and Delphine was standing in front of Hjerim, remembering the last time she'd been here. Esbern newly rescued, her family united and strong, Cicero by her side, newly claimed as hers. Things had seemed so much more innocent back then.

Now here she was, knowing that inside Cicero would be waiting, as she'd asked him to after visiting the Greybeards and getting their agreement to hold a peace conference. Waiting for her, probably with dinner ready and eager fingers to massage the aches of the road away, and if it hadn't been for the knowledge eating away inside her, she'd be all too delighted to join him.

But there was a dragon at the top of the Throat of the World, a damn dragon, Alduin's younger brother, waiting in the wings to take over with the World-Eater gone, a dragon who it turned out had come up with the whole 'use an Elder Scroll to learn Dragonrend' plan, and this whole 'trap a dragon in Dragonsreach' madness. Delphine hadn't liked seeking help from the Greybeards in the first place, but to find out it wasn't even them, it was a damn dragon's tune they were all dancing to... The thought made her blood boil, and knowing that Cicero had known all this and _lied_ about it was worse. She wasn't sure how much credit to give to Esbern's theory of Paarthurnax having some sort of mind control that turned his followers into fanatics, but if Cicero had been honest in the first place, she'd have been angry, sure – but she'd have listened, and she'd have laughed at Esbern's mind control theory. She didn't trust easily, but she'd come to trust Cicero. And he'd flat out lied to her. Worst thing was, she couldn't even confront him yet. They still had a job to do. But once this conference was over... then she'd be having words. She was dreading it.

Pushing the door open and steeling herself for facing him again, she stepped into Hjerim.

As always, Cicero was shaven and scrubbed clean, busy lighting candles and setting the table. He was wearing his new jester outfit, humming to himself as he worked. He glanced up as she came in, grinning in delight and bouncing over to her.

“Listener, Listener, Delphine, you're back!” he squealed, flinging himself into her arms, seeming not to notice her discomfort. “Cicero is making dinner, sweetling, it is nearly ready, you must be tired from the road, come, come, let Cicero take care of you.”

Delphine let him lead her to the table, closing her eyes and letting him fuss. It was nice, she had to admit. It was slowly breaking her heart, but the attention was always nice.

“Cicero has been very good,” he told her as he straddled the bench next to her and began to rub her shoulders. “He has been here two days and not killed anyone! He was even helpful! He went to this Forsaken Cave for the elf that runs the potions shop, and found an old Nord ruin inside with this magical phial that the elf wanted. Although it turned out to be broken, and the elf accused poor Cicero of having done it. Me! As if Cicero is that careless. Gave me five septims for it, and he is fortunate that his nice assistant paid Cicero properly for his efforts, because otherwise Cicero might have become... angry.” Cicero's hands went still as he paused and on the last word, his voice lowered into that harsher, deeper register that only occasionally broke through but always left Delphine shivering. Usually with arousal, but this time Delphine felt as if he'd held a knife to her throat. Cicero seemed not to notice, resuming the shoulder rub.

“But Cicero is merciful and the elf lives,” Cicero continued. “And it was not a total loss, there was a word wall there! Cicero knows the second word of Marked for Death now! But he will not use it here, he wouldn't want to mark the Listener for death, no. That would be very bad. Very bad indeed, yes. And Cicero knows how you feel about Shouting indoors, so he won't do it.”

_Damn you, Cicero. Why do you have to make it so damn difficult to stay angry with you?_ She knew it would be like this. Here she was, trying to maintain some distance, and here he was, closing the gap without even trying. She couldn't trust him but she wanted to so very badly.

His hands had stopped working, falling from her shoulders.

“Listener, is everything alright?” She didn't need to look to know he'd be frowning, tilting his head, arms folded. “You've barely said a word since you got here. Is something troubling you? Tell your Cicero what it is. He might be able to help. Does somebody need an artery opening?”

Talos help her. She'd never manage to survive this.

“I've had an exhausting time of it, Cicero. It was a long and difficult journey to get here and I'm just...” _Ready to cry or scream. But I can't._

“Sweetling.” Cicero got up and moved to sit in front of her now, those dark eyes so very gentle, candlelight playing on his cheekbones, his expression combining worry with tenderness. “Sweetling, Cicero has not seen you so unhappy in a long time. Cicero worries, dearest one. He doesn't usually worry about much, but if his Listener is unhappy, that is bad. Will you not take pity on him and tell him what is wrong?”

She'd never get away with this, not the whole keeping a distance thing. He was too perceptive for that. No, she'd need to do something else. Pretend. Pretend he was still loyal, still trustworthy, still her little murdering he-daedra.

“Do you love me?” she heard herself saying. “Really love me? Not just saying that because you want to keep the Listener happy? Not just pretending to be a happy servant because that's what I like?”

Cicero blinked, looking honestly baffled. “What sort of question is that? Of course I love you, sweetness. Cicero's always loved you, you know that. From the first time he saw you looking at him in Dragonsreach with that gleeful smile on your face like you'd just cornered a victim and were moving in for the kill. Then you took me home to your inn, and you let poor Cicero ramble on without calling him mad once, and you gave Mother somewhere to rest, and then you listened. You listened to me talk and you talked back and you didn't mind me cuddling you and it was real, all real – Sithis, Delphine, you were the first person to actually touch me and talk to me properly in years. Of course Cicero loves you. Before you were Listener... you listened to me. Cicero won't ever forget that.” He was holding her hands, leaning in closely, all intensity and burning focus and she was just about ready to fling herself into his arms and kiss him, forget everything, forget Esbern, Paarthurnax, the Blades, all of it. 

“Would you have fallen in love with anyone who'd done all that?” she asked.

“No one else did,” said Cicero, his voice low and husky. Delphine felt pangs of guilt constricting around her heart and she wished Esbern were here to see this so she could scream at him to look, see, did this sound like someone who was disloyal and planning to betray them all? But she couldn't be entirely sure, not now. However, she was fairly certain he wasn't going to sell her out tonight.

He'd gone very quiet, staring at her hands. “You are not wearing it,” he said, accusatory note creeping in, a hint of danger there and Delphine swiftly revised that opinion.

“It's in my pocket,” she said hastily. “Didn't want to wear it on the road, didn't want to attract thieves.” Mercifully, he believed her. Thankfully, it was partly true.

“Of course, of course,” he giggled, letting go of her hands, the Fool of Hearts back in residence. “Foolish Cicero! Delphine would not want to be robbed, no. She would want her token of love kept safe, yes? Yes, of course. Cicero understands, sweetling. Of course, he doesn't understand much else about you tonight. Frankly, my lovely, you're acting very strangely.”

Delphine forced the heartbreak and the doubts to one side, smiling and hoping it looked genuine. “I'm sorry, honey. I was just thinking about the ring and what it meant to you, and worrying you'd just fallen in love with the first pretty face who'd been nice to you and that you'd realise eventually you made a terrible mistake.” It wasn't even entirely untrue either – even before learning about Paarthurnax, she'd wondered if perhaps he'd not got carried away with the whole idea and might regret it later. Thinking about the future wasn't really Cicero's strong point. 

“Sweetling,” and the kind and gentle reassuring voice was back. “You worry too much. Cicero knows his own heart and mind. Trust him, sweetness. He would not have offered himself as your Keeper if he did not want it.” He kissed her on the cheek, gloved fingers running through her hair, before letting go and backing off, smiling down at her. “Cicero will fetch us both dinner, yes? And then you can tell Cicero if Esbern knows any dragon names yet, and how we're going to talk Ulfric Stormcloak into coming to a peace conference without Cicero having to threaten him.”

Delphine smiled at him as he danced off into the kitchen, singing merrily about chancing to see a singing bird. The smile faded as soon as his back was turned, but there was work to be done and if Delphine was good at anything, it was taking care of business.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Why she'd ever agreed to this, Eola had no idea. She should have left Sapphire out of it, taken all the pieces of the Razor to Silus herself, taken the coin and gone home. Job done. But no, she'd had to ask the thief for help, the thief who'd fallen a bit in love with the dagger pieces, and now here they were, halfway up a mountain in the Pale, at the Shrine of Mehrunes Dagon, watching some idiot try to summon the Lord of Destruction. All because Sapphire had been unable to contain her excitement at maybe getting her hands on the Razor, and had raised the entirely reasonable point that if this was such a terrible idea, maybe Eola might want to be on hand to stop it, hmm?

“This is still a terrible idea...” Eola muttered under her breath, watching Silus Vesuius try to invoke Mehrunes Dagon.

“You're such a pessimist,” said Sapphire, now rather perky with the nightmares gone and the prospect of a pretty dagger to look forward to. “What's the worst that could happen?”

“The Gates of Oblivion open, and all Dagon's Dremora hordes pour out to destroy the world, and we're the first ones they kill?” said Eola.

“It won't come to that,” said Sapphire, still sounding far too confident. 

_And you, with all your vast knowledge of the Daedra, know this because...?_ Eola wanted to reply, but she knew it would fall on deaf ears. Instead she offered up a prayer to Namira, and indeed Azura and Meridia if they were listening and feeling generous, to at least make sure Mehrunes Dagon stayed firmly in Oblivion.

It seemed as though she might be in luck. Nothing was happening at the shrine. Silus stepped back from the altar, shaking his head.

“It's not working,” he said. “One of you should try it.”

Eola stepped smartly back, hands raised. “Leave me out of it, last time I put my hands on the altar of a Daedric Prince that wasn't Namira, I ended up having fire-wielding Dremora trying to kill me. You want the knife so much, you do it.”

So Sapphire did. Sure enough, this time Dagon answered.

“Ahhh... now you are different. Stronger. Braver than that puny weakling. His ancestors must be so disappointed.”

Silus opened his mouth to object, then closed it again, remembering who was talking. Mehrunes Dagon was not someone you contradicted at will. 

“I will give you my Razor, mortal. I think you can find a use for it. But Dagon does not declare a winner while there is still a pawn on the board. Kill Silus and the Razor is yours.”

“Now – now wait a minute!” Silus cried. Sapphire didn't even give him a chance to finish. Before he could utter another word, Sapphire's dagger was buried in his chest, blade sliding neatly between his ribs. As the blood bubbled up in his throat, Silus Vesuius breathed his last and collapsed to the ground. 

Eola could only sigh, watching as Sapphire strode back to the altar, grinning gleefully at the prospect of finally getting her hands on the famed Razor. With Cicero gone, she'd thought she'd be in for a nice calm uneventful trip without a murderous psychopath at her side causing trouble, but it appeared she'd underestimated Sapphire. 

“Do I get my dagger now?” the other woman asked hopefully. Dagon laughed, and sure enough, the pieces of the Razor floated into the air before reforging, the shards pouring into the scabbard like liquid glass and the hilt and pommel slotted into their places. The dagger hung before them, and Sapphire took it, holding it in awe.

“It's beautiful,” she whispered.

“Indeed,” Dagon laughed. “Use it well, mortal. And as a little test of your nerve, a final challenge for my champion!” Laughter echoed around the shrine, and two Dremora materialised. Two very big Dremora with greatswords.

“Sapphire!!!” Eola screamed at her, casting her mage armour and unsheathing the Skull of   
Corruption. “This is all your fault!”

“How was I to know this would happen!” Sapphire cried, daggers in hand as she dodged and weaved, stabbing at one of the Dremora and hoping the Razor wouldn't let her down. It certainly stabbed nicely enough, but unfortunately Dremora didn't go down easy and Sapphire was not as skilled as Cicero, who would have made short work of them. Fortunately, Eola was more than up to the job, a Flame Atronach moving in to help Sapphire while Eola herself was casting chain lightning with one hand and blasting at the other Dremora with the Skull. It wasn't long before it succumbed. Sapphire was managing to hold the other one at bay, parrying its blows with her dagger blades, and then to her eternal relief, Eola was there, one blow from Dawnbreaker finishing it off.

“Thank you,” Sapphire whispered once she'd recovered the power of speech. Eola was sheathing her weapons, glaring at Sapphire.

“Have we all learned a valuable lesson about trafficking with Daedra Lords?” Eola said tersely, rather unfairly in Sapphire's opinion given that Eola was a sworn priestess of Namira herself.

“Hey, I didn't know there'd be actual Daedra!” Sapphire protested. “You dragged me into this by promising me gold! I just wanted to see the job through to the end. The shiny dagger is just a bonus.”

“It's pretty shiny,” Eola had to admit. Truth be told, it had been Silus Vesuius' dumb idea to actually try and summon Mehrunes Dagon to repair it. Really, if he'd thought that was a good idea, he was just too stupid to live. All in all, things appeared to have gone pretty well. Time to loot all the bodies and head home.

“Hey, there's a key on this Dremora's corpse,” said Sapphire. “Reckon it'll let us into the Shrine?”

“Probably,” said Eola, preoccupied with slicing Silus' corpse up. No sense letting good meat go to waste, after all. Sapphire, having got all she was going to off the Dremora, opened the Shrine door successfully and slipped inside to see if there was anything worth having.

About a minute later, Eola found herself distracted by the sound of Sapphire screaming her name.

“Sweet Night Mother,” Eola muttered, getting to her feet, finding herself missing Cicero more with each passing day. He might be one of the biggest trouble magnets around... but at least he very rarely needed saving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Morning in Windhelm, and it was sunny, if bone-chillingly cold. Cicero was fully armed and armoured, as was Delphine, resplendent in her Blades armour. Secret identity be damned, for this she needed to look authoritative, or as authoritative as she could with a capering jester at her side. All seemed well with him, and he'd been cheerful all morning, albeit sending her the odd concerned look. She'd managed to avoid having sex with him the night before and thank Talos, he'd just let it go, murmuring “As you wish,” as she'd caught his wrists before his hands could get between her thighs and lifted them away. She'd not been able to avoid the cuddling though. He'd wrapped himself around her, pulling the blankets over them both and held her all night, falling asleep soon enough, but gripping her tightly enough he'd likely wake up if she moved. It had been some time before she'd been able to sleep herself. _I want my boy back. I want it to be like it was. I miss you, Cicero, and you're right here..._

Now here they were in Ulfric's palace and she needed to focus. Taking a deep breath, she walked up the hallway to where Ulfric Stormcloak himself was waiting. He was talking to Galmar about Whiterun and Balgruuf, reassuring his housecarl that Balgruuf was a true Nord and would come round. Delphine wasn't nearly so sure about that point but Ulfric always had been over-confident. He glanced her way as he heard her approach, looked twice, eyes widening before he got to his feet, arms outstretched.

“Delphine, old friend,” he laughed. “Welcome back to Windhelm. Is that Blades armour I see? You're a brave woman to wear that openly.”

“I'm a brave woman,” Delphine replied, smile finding its way to her face as she realised she'd forgiven him, had done some time ago. She just hoped they didn't have to kill him. “And you're a brave man considering I tried to kill you last time I saw you.”

Ulfric laughed, drawing her into an embrace and patting her on the back before releasing her, hands on her shoulders. 

“Ah, Delphine. You're not the assassination type. Or at least, if you were, you'd be rather subtler than walking straight into my hall and knifing me.”

_If only you knew, Ulfric._ Still, he was right about the second part at least.

“I'm not here to kill you, Ulfric. I'm here about dragons.”

“Dragons, eh?” Ulfric stepped away and settled back into his throne, waving Galmar away. Galmar was looking rather suspiciously at her, and while it seemed Ulfric bore her no hard feelings, his housecarl clearly wasn't so forgiving. To be expected, really.

“So why is Delphine of the Blades interested in dragons?” Ulfric asked, stroking his beard. “And why does Delphine think I might be able to help? My armies are tied up in the field, I've no men to spare for dragon-hunting, Delphine. And who is your friend there? I assume he's with you, because if he's not, my guards will be throwing him out due to that sweetroll he's just pocketed.”

Cicero was by Delphine's side in seconds, arm linked with hers and pouting.

“Cicero was hungry,” he whined, gazing pathetically up at her and Ulfric in turn.

“You had breakfast not half an hour ago, Cicero,” Delphine growled, patience wearing a little thin. “Yes, Ulfric, he's with me and no I don't need men from you to help me hunt dragons. Not when I have the Dragonborn himself right here.”

Whatever reaction she'd expected from Ulfric, it hadn't been outright roars of laughter, complete with a slapping of the thigh. Finally, the Jarl dried his eyes.

“Delphine, Delphine, you truly believe me to expect that buffoon's the Dragonborn? He's clearly insane.”

Cicero's eyes narrowed. “Delphine,” he said calmly, far too calmly, “remind me again why we cannot kill the Stormcloak lord?”

“Because no one's paying us,” Delphine murmured in Cicero's ear. “Now behave.” She turned back to Ulfric, folding her arms and doing her best to look as intimidating as possible.

“He's the Dragonborn, Ulfric. Believe it or don't, I don't care. But he's here and he's going to kill dragons for me. All of them. Right up to Alduin himself.” She didn't look at Cicero as she said this. Didn't dare see his reaction. After all, she wasn't supposed to know about Paarthurnax, was she? 

“The World-Eater himself?” Ulfric said in wonder. “No, surely not. He cannot be here.”

“Believe it, Ulfric,” said Delphine sharply. “He's in Sovngarde right now, feasting on the souls of the dead. We need to find the portal he used, send Cicero here through it, and then Cicero's going to kill the World-Eater. Isn't that right, Cicero?”

“Oh yes,” Cicero growled. “Cicero will end Alduin... and anyone else who gets in his way.” The look he shot Ulfric as he said this clearly implied that if he thought Ulfric was getting in his way, he'd be among those dying.

“I don't know where this portal might be, Delphine,” said Ulfric, shifting nervously in his throne. “If anyone does, the Greybeards might.”

“Oh, that's not what we need your help for,” said Delphine. “We've already got a plan to trap a dragon in Dragonsreach and interrogate it to find out where Alduin's hiding. The only problem here is that Balgruuf doesn't like the idea.”

“Does he not? You do surprise me,” said Ulfric, rolling his eyes. “Is this why you need my assistance then? You want me to invade Whiterun, dethrone Balgruuf, install a Stormcloak Jarl and persuade them to agree to this plan while my armies remain in place to deter Imperial attacks?”

“Ooh, Cicero likes the way the Stormcloak thinks!” said Cicero, impressed. “Could Cicero accompany the Stormcloak armies? Cicero could... help.”

“No!” Delphine hissed at him, not missing the way Ulfric had raised his eyebrows, clearly impressed by Cicero's bloodlust if nothing else. “Ulfric, that's not what we came here to ask – I'm hoping to find a way round this without having to kill anyone.” She ignored the sulky pouting from Cicero.

“If you can do that, I'll be impressed indeed,” said Ulfric, intrigued. “So what is this plan of yours?”

“We're holding a peace council at High Hrothgar,” said Delphine. “The Greybeards have agreed to host it. Will you come?”

“And if I say no?” said Ulfric, his preferred plan clearly in accord with Cicero's. Great. Typical bloody men and their typical bloody macho posturing. She had dragons to kill, dammit, couldn't Ulfric see the bigger picture for once??

Cicero stepped up to the Jarl's throne, right up to it, almost nose to nose with Ulfric.

“Because if Ulfric says no, Cicero will have to fall back on to the other plan,” said Cicero, his voice low and dangerous. “Ulfric would not like the other plan. It would be ugly. Messy. No, Ulfric would definitely not like it if things became... ugly.”

Everyone else had fallen silent, the atmosphere in the hall tense and ready to explode. Delphine counted the number of guards between her and the exit. Too many. Far too many, and there was the city to get out of. Even with Cicero at her side, it didn't look good.

“Are you threatening me, Dragonborn?” said Ulfric softly. 

“On your orders, Ulfric,” Galmar growled, unsheathing his battle axe. “Say the word and I send this fool back to the realm of Oblivion he came from.”

“Don't you dare, Galmar,” said Delphine, reaching for her own katana. “I'm sworn to protect the dragon blood, you know that.”

“The dragon blood can protect itself if it runs true,” said Ulfric calmly. He eyed Cicero, still not entirely convinced Cicero was the Dragonborn. “Well, Dovahkiin? Are you truly the heir to that legacy, or are you just some pretender?”

“Ulfric wants to see my inner Dovah?” Cicero said, murderer's grin spreading across his face. “That is very brave. Cicero respects bravery. So much easier to kill a brave man than a coward.”

“Which are you, Cicero?” Ulfric asked, not even flinching. “I'd like to be prepared.”

“Neither,” Cicero growled. “Cicero knows his skills. He knows the fights he can win and not win. Can the Jarl say the same? Or has he grown lazy?”

_If we make it out of here alive, I swear I will kill him._ Delphine held her katana across her chest, ready to spring into action if she had to. 

“Then let's put your skills to the test,” said Ulfric, glaring at Cicero. “You and me in single combat, here, now. Fight until first blood. You win, I'll go to your conference. I win – you'll get one chance to leave this city alive. I suggest you take it.”

_Sweet Mother, is it really going to come down to this?_ She should never have brought Cicero, she just knew there'd be trouble. 

“Accepted,” Cicero said with a grin, stepping back and unsheathing Dragonbane. Ulfric just smiled.

“FUS RO DAH!” and it wasn't Cicero who'd Shouted. Cicero staggered back, clearly shaken by the force of it. Ulfric got to his feet, ebony sword drawn and ready to strike. Delphine felt her breath catch in her throat as Cicero regained his footing and looked up, lethal smile in place.

“Is that all?” he purred. “KRII LUN!” Ulfric cried out as the wave of killing dragon power engulfed him, but he was still standing. Then the fight was on in earnest, Ulfric's heavy strokes matched by Cicero's lighter and faster ones, ebony clashing with steel, sparks flying every time Dragonbane struck. The two men were rather more evenly matched than anyone could have anticipated, and Delphine had seen both in action before now. However, Ulfric was a decade older and the Marked for Death Shout had weakened him. Cicero saw his chance and drew Dragonbane back to strike.

“ZUN HAAL VIIK!” Dragonbane was torn from Cicero's hand and sent flying across the room. Delphine cried out, but Ulfric was already preparing to strike down her Cicero and two guards had grabbed her arms, holding her back.

Cicero reached into his pocket and drew his Daedric dagger. Before Ulfric could strike, Cicero dived in, right up in Ulfric's face, staring intently into the Jarl's eyes... and driving his dagger deep into Ulfric's clothes. There was a pause, in which Ulfric stared down in shock at the little jester, and then Cicero had withdrawn his dagger, stepping back and out of reach. To Delphine's surprise, there was no arterial bloodspatter despite blood dripping from Cicero's blade, and Ulfric was still standing.

“First blood,” Cicero growled. “Those were your terms, Stormcloak Jarl.” He cleaned the blade and sheathed it. Ulfric was fingering the rent in his clothing, apparently too stunned to say anything.

“Ulfric,” Galmar cried, racing to the Jarl's side. “What did he do?? Are you alright?”

“I'm... it's a flesh wound only,” said Ulfric, clutching his side and sitting down at the trestle table in the centre of the hall. “I've suffered worse, Galmar, stop fussing. And let Delphine go, she's done no wrong.” 

As soon as the guards released her, she ran to Cicero, sweeping him into her arms, heedless of anyone or anything. Damn Esbern, damn Paarthurnax, yes there'd have to be a reckoning eventually but not today. 

“Are you alright?” she whispered. Cicero looked up, grinning.

“Oh, Cicero is fine. Sweet Delphine should not worry. Cicero knew what he was doing.”

_I could cheerfully slap you sometimes._ But not here, not right now. She was too relieved to care.

“Aye, that you did, lad,” said Ulfric, the usual grandstanding absent from his voice for once. “You could easily have killed me there, but didn't. That last strike took a lot of skill, getting the angle right to wound only and not kill. Well done, Dragonborn.”

“Cicero thanks you, kind Jarl Ulfric,” Cicero replied, sliding on to the bench next to him. “Your Thu'um is strong also. Cicero did not know that Disarming one.”

“They're the only two I know,” Ulfric admitted. “I'd teach it to you but, well, why give up my one advantage?”

A firm hand on Cicero's shoulder stopped him replying.

“So this conference,” said Delphine, her grip on Cicero not loosening for a second. “You will come?”

Ulfric nodded. “I'll be there. I'll negotiate in good faith – if Tullius turns up and makes me a reasonable offer, you'll have your truce.”

“Thank you,” said Delphine, finally allowing herself to smile. “It's all we ask.”

Ulfric wisely decided not to ask what would happen if all fell apart at the conference. Something told him he wouldn't like the answer. Cicero retrieved his sword, and he and Delphine took their leave.

Once out in the sunshine, Delphine sank down on to the stone, her knees about ready to give out from the strain.

“Sweetling?” Cicero was by her side in a second, all concern. “Are you well? Should Cicero fetch a healer?”

“I'm fine!” Delphine gasped. “I'm just... I can't actually believe that worked! And you... you started a fight with Ulfric Stormcloak and we both got out of there alive... Cicero, I swear you'll be the death of me.”

She found herself cuddled tightly and belatedly remembered that Cicero's grasp of metaphor was a little hazy, especially ones involving death.

“No no no, Cicero never would!” he cried. “He would never hurt his sweetling!”

“It's alright. I know,” she said gently, stroking his hair. She felt him relax a little but he was still clinging to her. Whatever dragon mind-control might or might not be affecting him, Esbern had been right about one thing – Cicero's affections were genuine. There was hope for him yet.

“Cicero,” she began. “You know I love you, right? I mean, you're important to me. Really important to me.”

“Cicero knows,” came the reply. He slowly released his grip on her, lifting her head to face him. “Cicero has to ask, is everything alright? Is there something he should know?”

“No, no, not yet,” said Delphine. She leaned up and kissed him once on the lips. “Just... whatever happens, don't ever forget that I love you. I really do. I know I don't say it to you much. But I do.”

Cicero responded by kissing her, gloved fingers snaking through her hair as his lips pressed against hers, gently at first then increasingly more persistent until a passing guard snapped at them to stop lollygagging and find a room. Cicero broke off, grinning, and helped her to her feet.

“Well, my lovely, should we do as the nice guard says and find a room? Hjerim is not far...”

“Not now,” Delphine said, although the thought of disappearing with Cicero for a few hours was tempting. “We need to get to Solitude and meet with Tullius next and I'd like to be there by nightfall. So we need to leave now. Besides, I've got a little surprise for you once we're out on the road.”

That had Cicero's attention. “Ooh! A surprise! Cicero likes surprises.” He linked his arm in hers, all cheerful now. Delphine smiled indulgently at him. He probably wouldn't be quite so keen on this one. She still owed him a punishment for the whole Mikael incident in Whiterun after all, and after he'd challenged Ulfric Stormcloak to a fight, clearly he needed firmly taking in hand. Feeling much happier than she had that morning, she led unsuspecting Cicero out of Windhelm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: That's all for now - next update, Cicero and Delphine go to Solitude to see if Tullius is any more receptive, we learn a bit more about Cicero's blood family and the Blades, and everyone is gathering at Ivarstead in preparation for the High Hrothgar conference.
> 
> These next few chapters are going to be a bit short - the whole Season Unending arc turned into Chapter Unending and it's about 30 pages. So I've split it into three chapters. Next one will be in a few days hopefully. I have the week off work and it's likely to be spent writing. :D


	26. Season Unending Part 2: Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Delphine and Cicero need to go to Solitude to persuade the Imperials to show up, we find out a bit more about Cicero's blood family and everyone is gathering at Ivarstead in preparation for the peace summit.

“Solitude. Huh. Lonely Cicero could tell you a thing or two about solitude.” Those had been Cicero's first words on entering the city, and his attitude towards the place had not changed since. 

“You really don't like this city, do you?” Delphine asked as they walked up towards Castle Dour. Cicero shook his head.

“Not as pretty as Whiterun, not as much fun as Riften. Markarth is Eola's city, so Cicero will like it for that reason alone, and Windhelm may be cold but it's ours. This is trying to be Cyrodiil and failing.”

“You really miss it, don't you? Cyrodiil, I mean,” said Delphine. She'd travelled too much to ever get too attached to any one place, so homesickness was a foreign concept to her, but Cicero had spent virtually all his life in Cyrodiil. Leaving must have been hard for him.

“Cicero does,” he said softly. “So much warmer. Flowers everywhere – the roses, the jasmine, the honeysuckle, plants that don't grow this far north. Trees that haven't had to grow hard and pointy just to survive. You know, Delphine, you were stationed there. You know how beautiful it is.”

Delphine had to agree. When it wasn't being torn apart by war and violence, Cyrodiil was a fertile land of lush green valleys and rolling hills. She had a few fond memories of the place.

“I'm sorry you had to leave,” she told him. He smiled back, squeezing her hand.

“Don't be. Cicero misses Cyrodiil – but Skyrim has its own attractions.”

Delphine could feel herself blushing. Cicero didn't seem to have the legendary Imperial ability to impose calm with the mere raising of their voice, Shouts notwithstanding, but he certainly had the famed Imperial flirtation skills. 

“But Solitude isn't one of them.”

Cicero shook his head. “No, sweetness. Reminds Cicero of home. Isn't home. Like if you died, and then Cicero met your sister. It would make things worse.”

“I don't have a sister,” said Delphine softly. “Not any more.” No, the Thalmor had killed her entire family in the process of trying to track her down. She could never return to High Rock, not now. Too many memories, and she'd spent the last thirty years trying to forget. “Come on. We're here.”

They walked into Castle Dour hand in hand, the Legionnaires on guard taking one look at Delphine's Blades armour, widening their eyes and motioning for them to go on through.

“You can't force a Nord to accept help he hasn't asked for,” a Nord Legionnaire in the armour of a high-ranking officer was telling an Imperial in a general's uniform. This must be the famed General Tullius, and the woman speaking to him was clearly one of his Legates – Rikke, was it?

“Then we'll make it seem like it's his idea,” Tullius replied, glancing up as they entered – and falling silent immediately on seeing Delphine in her armour.

“I'm looking for General Tullius,” said Delphine, meeting his eye and hoping she didn't look as self-conscious as she felt.

“You found him,” said Tullius, turning to face her and meeting her eyes, not flinching once. “I didn't know any of you people were still around. You know Talos-worship's a crime these days.”

“Good thing I'm not praying to him right in front of you then,” said Delphine. “But I'm not here about Talos. I'm here about dragons... and the Dragonborn.”

“I'm not here to deal with dragons, Blade,” said Tullius gruffly. “I'm here to win a war and get Skyrim back into the Empire where she belongs. I've got no time for Nord superstitions either.”

“General, I've told you, the Dragonborn's far more than a superstition – there's not a Nord anywhere who would want to fight the Dragonborn,” Rikke sighed wearily. “The Dragonborn's the ultimate Nord warrior – if we could track the Dragonborn down and persuade him to join us, it would be the ultimate weapon against Ulfric. There's not a Stormcloak out there who wouldn't start to doubt Ulfric if the Dragonborn were to join us.”

“Ask him yourself then,” said Delphine, standing aside. “He's right here.”

Both Tullius and Rikke stared at Cicero as he strutted into view, flashing a grin at Rikke and then nodding at Tullius.

“That's the Dragonborn?” said Rikke in disbelief.

“That's me!” Cicero giggled. “Would you like me to Shout and prove it?”

“No!” said Delphine instantly, again wondering if bringing Cicero had been the best idea. 

“You're not a Nord,” said Tullius, frowning. Cicero shook his head.

“No, sir. Cicero isn't sure how it happened exactly, only that he killed a dragon and then the beast's soul flowed into him. Cicero's mother used to say her grandmother told her that an ancestor of hers worked as a servant for Pelagius the Mad and became the mother of his illegitimate child, but Cicero doesn't credit it at all.”

“Your mother...” Tullius was staring at Cicero fiercely, some flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Hmm. I thought you looked familiar. Only one other person I ever knew had hair like that. One of the best commanding officers I ever had – Praefect Di Rosso. Shame she left the Legion – we could have used her in the Great War. Would you be her son, by any chance?”

Cicero had gone very still, and very pale even by his standards. “You knew my mother.”

Tullius nodded. “Not well – I was a raw recruit, she was a ranking officer. But she was very good at her job, drove us hard but she made us the best and she had one of the finest tactical minds I've come across. I learned a lot from her. If she raised you... well, maybe you might be worth something.”

Cicero smiled faintly. “Thank you, sir. Cicero tries his best. Alas he's not inherited her fine mind... but he has Delphine for that sort of thing.” He took Delphine's hand in his, squeezing it gently and smiling at her. 

“Even so, those are above average weapons and armour you have there, and you look like you're a man who knows how to use them,” said Tullius, appraising Cicero very carefully indeed. “So, Cicero Di Rosso, what can I do for you and Delphine here? I assume neither of you are interested in joining up.”

“Cicero's a fine warrior, but trust me, you do not want him in the Legion,” said Delphine. “He's far too independent-minded to make a good soldier. Terrible at following orders.” She shared a grin with Cicero, both of them knowing Cicero still had the marks from yesterday's punishment to prove just how terrible he was at behaving himself. “No, we're not here to fight. We're here to make you an offer. We need to deal with the dragon menace, but we can't do that with the civil war going on. So we had a word with the Greybeards and they've called a peace conference to discuss a truce. Will you come?”

“A peace conference?” Tullius stared at them both in disbelief, realising that they were in fact serious. “Are you seriously telling me to drop everything and trek all the way up the Throat of the World to talk terms on those old monks' say so?”

“General, those old monks are highly respected by every Nord in the Legion, and on the Stormcloak side too,” said Rikke, pursing her lips. “Ulfric trained with them as a young man. If they've sent out a summons to discuss peace, we can't just ignore it. Not if you want your Nord soldiers to still respect you.” She was leaning on the table, glaring fiercely at him in a way that hinted that by Tullius' Nord soldiers, she meant herself.

“My Nord soldiers will follow orders as always, Legate,” Tullius shot back. Rikke glanced away, conceding that point at least.

“Of course, General,” she said calmly. “But they want to believe they're doing the right thing by Skyrim in supporting the Empire. It'll harm their morale if you're seen to be defying the will of the Greybeards. General, if you want to win Skyrim, you can't just conquer her by force. You need the goodwill of her people too.”

Tullius had to admit this was a fair point. “So what does Ulfric think of this summons then? Have you spoken to him yet?”

“He's already agreed to attend,” said Delphine, trying not to look too smug at the incredulous looks on Tullius and Rikke's faces.

“Cicero only had to threaten him a little bit!” Cicero chimed in, looking delighted with himself. Rikke edged away nervously, one hand going for her sword hilt.

“Well now, that's put a rather different face on things,” said Tullius thoughtfully. “I can't have it be said Ulfric's a more reasonable man than I am. All right, I'll attend. Legate, send word to Jarl Elisif. We'll leave tomorrow.”

Delphine thanked Tullius and led Cicero out. 

“We did it, we did it, we organised a peace conference!” he chorused, capering about merrily as they stepped out into the courtyard. 

“Yes we did,” said Delphine. “Of course, we've still got to hold the thing. Still plenty of things that could go wrong.” Not least of which was the plain fact that Cicero as Dragonborn could well end up with some pivotal decisions to make during this conference. To say she was a little anxious about the whole thing was a bit of an understatement. But it was done now and there was little she could do about it. Besides, Cicero wasn't quite the liability he sometimes seemed. He'd challenged Ulfric and won, not just the fight but the man's respect. And now it seemed he'd helped influence Tullius simply because of who his mother had been. And the name... 

“Are you really a Di Rosso?” she asked, taking his arm in hers and leading him towards the city gates.

Cicero shrugged. “Once. We in the Dark Brotherhood tend to leave our family names behind. The Brotherhood is all the family we need, and besides Cicero lost his blood mother years ago. He has no blood kin left to him – needs no blood kin. It's not a terribly distinguished family – humble Cicero has humble origins. He is surprised Delphine seems to know it.” He was looking at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Dragon blood, Cicero,” Delphine said gently. “The Blades were keeping watch for potential Dragonborns for years – looking for leaders, warriors, men and women with magic in their very voices. Our best candidate was a female Legion officer from Cyrodiil who came to light early on in her career, about twenty years before the Great War. Stelmaria Di Rosso.”

Cicero's eyes widened as the implications hit home. “You mean – my mother – Dragonborn???”

Delphine nodded, unable to stop smiling. “That's right. Well, we were never entirely sure, but we suspected. I never met her myself, sadly. She'd already left the Legion by the time I joined up, but I heard of her and ironically, if the Blades hadn't seeded so many agents around her to keep an eye on her, I might never have been recruited myself. Would never have met you.”

Cicero barely managed a smile at this. “Well, that's something. But Delphine, if the Blades thought her Dragonborn... where were they? Why did they never make contact? Why did she and I live alone in the Imperial City? Why did no one ever get me from that orphanage if I was a Dragonborn's son? _Where were they when she died??_ ” He'd grabbed her by the shoulders, eyes boring furiously into hers. He'd never really spoken about his family of birth and Delphine realised why. He must have adored his mother more than anything, and then to lose her so young... she should never have brought this up. But she had and she owed him answers.

“They tried, Cicero. She was too wary, too paranoid. I read the file once – they had her down as a brilliant maverick who was well-liked and respected, but who never really let anyone get close. Agents tried to talk to her, but she rebuffed them all. In the end it was decided to just monitor her and keep her safe as best we could, get as many Blades into her unit as possible to keep her out of trouble. It worked, while she was in the Legion anyway.”

Cicero was nodding, sad smile on his face. “That sounds like her. You'd have liked her. Cicero only wishes you had met her. You might have reached her, and she would have had you to look after her. You'd never have let her die. Or at least you could have looked after poor Cicero afterwards. Poor motherless Cicero would not have minded you adopting him.”

“Not sure that would have been such a good idea,” said Delphine. “Not when said adopted Dragonborn son grew up into a handsome young man.” Cicero giggled at this, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously and somehow Delphine got the feeling the idea of seducing his adoptive mother wouldn't have been at all displeasing to him. Quite the reverse.

“What happened after she left the Legion? Did no one follow her?” Cicero asked, the giggles subsiding.

“Of course they did,” said Delphine. “Several of your neighbours were Blades agents. Took a while to track her down after she resigned, but we did eventually find her running a blacksmith forge... with a small boy in tow. Gods, you're Cicero Di Rosso, I had no idea. You were mentioned, you know! Not by name, but it said you were small for your age but very lively and quick-witted. With a warning that you had a somewhat violent streak and that other boys tended to avoid you.”

“They liked to gang up on poor defenceless Cicero,” Cicero pouted. “Mean they were to me, just because poor Cicero was always the smallest.”

“And?” Delphine asked, raising an eyebrow, sure this was not the whole story. She was right. Cicero grinned back at her. 

“The other boys may have liked to be cruel to me... but Cicero can be cruel too. They may have picked on me once... but no one ever did it twice!”

Frankly, Delphine wondered why she'd never pieced it all together before. If she'd ever met or seen a picture of Stelmaria, she'd probably have worked it out but as it was, the file she'd seen had never named Stelmaria's son and he really hadn't spoken about his childhood at all, not to her at any rate. Sounded like Eola might have found out a little more – she knew how his mother had died at least. Delphine cursed herself for not thinking to dig more – she'd asked after blood relatives, but he'd said they were all dead and the finality of his voice had convinced her it was a topic best left alone. He'd not been mentioned hugely in the Blades files either – he'd only been a boy after all. But what had been in there – she was a fool not to have seen it before, the personality was exactly the same. Small but bright fireball with very few scruples about causing pain to those who got in his way – that was her Cicero all right.

“We were right,” she whispered. “Dragon blood, it was right there, we had it in our sights. Damn Titus Mede! If he'd not disbanded us, if we'd not had to all go into hiding, I swear someone would have come and got you, Cicero. We couldn't save your mother, we had all our warriors out in the field, all our agents near you were sleeper agents, merchants, townsfolk. But I promise if we'd been able, we'd have had you adopted as soon as the war finished. I'm so sorry, love.”

“It is not your fault,” said Cicero, having calmed down a little. He still looked sad, but this was an old wound, not a fresh one after all. “You did not kill Cicero's mother. You could not come and find me with the Thalmor after you. Besides, Cicero might never have joined the Dark Brotherhood if things had been different. Who knows what might have happened if someone less loyal, less devoted, had been left in charge of Mother? They might have hurt her. Abandoned her! And if Cicero had not been Keeper, you would never have been Listener! Maybe someone else, someone less capable, might have ended up as Listener. Or worse, no one would ever have been found. No Listener, ever, and Mother's voice unheard... No, no, this has worked out for the best.”

Delphine had to laugh at that, even as Cicero looked baffled and wanted to know what was so funny. Only Cicero could compare a life lived in the Dark Brotherhood to one in which he might have had a new family and a life of relative ease and comfort, and decide the life he'd had was far better. Esbern was right – he was still the Night Mother's at heart. All was not lost. All they needed to do was get this conference over with, get Paarthurnax taken care of, and then... then he'd be all hers again. It was a tall order admittedly, but they'd taken on the impossible before and succeeded. All would be well. Taking Cicero's hand, she led him out of the city. The carriage to Whiterun awaited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It was a long journey to Ivarstead, but relatively uneventful. As they finally walked into the Vilemyr Inn, Cicero and Delphine found themselves pounced on by Eola, who hugged Cicero half to death before giving Delphine a rather more restrained embrace.

“You got my note,” said Delphine with a smile, pleased to see the young Reachwoman again.

“Sure did!” said Eola. She was dressed in the scaled armour she'd been wearing when Cicero first met her, eager not to attract attention by appearing anything more than a mercenary adventurer. “Esbern's here too – got him here in one piece, look.”

Esbern glanced up from the corner table he was sitting at, smiling at Delphine, his expression only wavering a little to see Cicero. Cicero didn't seem to pay any heed, being too busy enthusing to Eola how he'd managed to get Tullius and Ulfric and Arngeir to agree to a peace conference. Delphine let him get on with it while she took Esbern aside.

“Esbern. Glad you could make it. I have a feeling we'll need you.”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” said Esbern. “I'm rather looking forward to it. Just think! History in the making! The decisions that get made will have ramifications for an entire country, maybe even an entire Empire. Just getting Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius to be at the same table is an achievement. How in the world did you do it?”

“Hate to say it, Esbern, but Cicero was actually instrumental to the whole thing,” Delphine admitted. “He made a few threatening statements to Ulfric, next thing any of us knew, the two of them were duelling it out. Needless to say, Cicero won and Ulfric had to honour his end of the bargain and agree to come. It was an impressive fight, you should have seen it!”

“I can imagine,” said Esbern, glancing over to where Cicero was avidly demonstrating to Eola just how he'd nearly killed Ulfric Stormcloak. Given that the man had been responsible for getting her father imprisoned, Eola seemed rather pleased by the whole thing, commenting that she only wished Cicero had been able to finish the job.

“Then we had to see Tullius,” Delphine continued, “and that wasn't so hard once we told him Ulfric had already said yes. But you'll never guess what I found out about Cicero. Esbern, he's Stelmaria's son! Cicero Di Rosso! She really was Dragonborn!”

That did get Esbern's attention. “Really? She really was...? Well now. That's something. To know we were on the right track at least. It's not really terribly important now of course, the woman is long dead, and we know her son is Dragonborn. But I agree, it's interesting to know. It's just a pity that when she died, we were in no position to do anything for Cicero. He'd be such a different man if we'd been able to take him back to Cloud Ruler Temple, raise him there as a Blade.”

“I know,” said Delphine softly. She'd not been able to stop thinking about how different everything would have been with Cicero brought to them after his mother's death. Cicero raised as a Blade, Cicero never joining the Brotherhood, never knowing the Night Mother, Cicero sane, maybe even a good and honourable man, although Delphine didn't want to get carried away. From the sounds of things, he'd been a violent little thing even back then. But she was sure they could have channelled that somehow. “Damn Thalmor. Damn Titus Mede!”

“We can't undo the past, Delphine,” said Esbern, taking her hand in his own. “We can only work with what we've got. We found him eventually, Delphine, and he's a trained warrior. The fact that he got his training from the Dark Brotherhood, well, that's regrettable. Still, he has skills we can use... if we can trust him. Does he know we know yet?”

“No,” said Delphine, feeling the familiar pang of guilt and sorrow that she got whenever she remembered there was a dragon on the Throat of the World. “Esbern, are you sure we need to do this? He's loyal, I'm sure of it. Nothing he's said or done since I found out has said anything but that he's devoted as he always was.”

“Then he'll have no problem killing Paarthurnax,” said Esbern quietly. “We can't take the risk, Delphine. We can't risk Alduin getting defeated, only for Paarthurnax to rise and take over where Alduin left off, and with Cicero at his side helping him. If Paarthurnax really can control his followers' minds, it's possible Cicero doesn't even know it's happening. We can't trust him. Not unless he kills Paarthurnax.”

Delphine bowed her head. This wasn't going to go well... but she also knew Cicero was a Dark Brotherhood assassin to the core. He'd do as the Listener told him if nothing else. She just hoped his mind survived.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Much later and the inn was quiet. Esbern had turned in for the night, Cicero was talking quietly with the innkeeper – about what, Delphine had no idea but she suspected she probably didn't want to, and Delphine had stepped outside to get some air... only to find Eola already there, leaning against the rail and watching the Northern Lights.

“I'm sorry, did you want some privacy?” Delphine began to say, but Eola just glanced in her direction and smiled.

“I don't mind your company, Del. Join me if you like?”

Delphine did, leaning against the rail next to her, feeling that strange combination of nerves and pleasure that Eola's company always brought. She made sure she wasn't on Eola's blind side and made herself comfortable.

“Thanks for bringing Esbern. I appreciate it. Even if it weren't for, well, you know, I feel a lot better if he's not wandering Skyrim on his own.”

“And there was me thinking you just couldn't wait to see me again,” Eola laughed, mouth quirked in a smile that could almost be seen as teasing... but not quite. 

“You're reliable and trustworthy,” said Delphine, deciding not to rise to that particular bait. “Also you should be here for this, I think. The Reachmen should have a representative here, although I don't know if I really want you outed to everyone as Madanach's child. Might make things awkward in the future if you're ever caught on the job.”

“Wouldn't it just,” Eola grinned. “All right, I won't announce myself. You can just tell everyone I'm with you.”

Delphine looked away, not wanting to see that look Eola got every so often, that hungry predator grin that kept flashing Delphine's way more often than she liked. Not that Delphine was scared of Eola, of course not... but Delphine had Cicero, and Cicero was possessive of what was his.

“You'd have made a good Blade,” Delphine said. Apart from the cannibalistic Daedric rites, but one couldn't have everything.

“You'd make a terrible Namira worshipper,” came the response right back. Delphine had to laugh at that. 

Silence fell, a comfortable silence, not like being with Cicero where silence usually meant he was either asleep or up to something. It was nice to be able to just relax for a little while.

“So I spoke to Da,” said Eola after a while. “He says you and him were talking about this whole peace conference, and it's likely the Reach is going to go Stormcloak.”

“Probably, yes,” Delphine sighed. “Ulfric will want something to persuade him to leave Whiterun alone. I'm sorry, Eola, I know it's probably the last thing you want.”

Eola shrugged. “I leave the politics to Da. The Reach isn't in our hands now, having Ulfric's puppets running the show won't change that. It'll just make it easier to overthrow them in the end. Cicero and I killed one Silver-Blood. We can do the other if it comes to that.”

“I don't think your father can afford a contract against him,” said Delphine. Eola just grinned.

“I'll do him for free if I have to. That alright with you, Listener?”

“What you do in your spare time is up to you,” said Delphine, knowing when to turn a blind eye. Eola's face lit up.

“You are an awesome leader, you know that, right?”

“I try,” said Delphine, looking up at the stars. She wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring, but she'd do her best. As long as they got that truce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be in a couple of days time - wanted to have plenty of material under my belt before posting anything new, just in case of problems.
> 
> In which there will be a peace conference, and then Delphine's going to have to have a difficult conversation with Cicero.


	27. Season Unending Part 3: High Hrothgar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to negotiate a truce, but no one's exactly got their reasonable head on. However, for Cicero at least, the decisions being made at the peace talks are nothing compared to the one he'll have to make afterwards...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last scene in this is angsty. Very angsty. In fact, have tissues ready, if you're not heartbroken after reading it, you're not human.

Arngeir stared down at them all as they walked into the monastery. Cicero took the lead, bouncing up to Arngeir in delight.

“Cicero is here! Cicero did it! Cicero persuaded Tullius and Ulfric to come and they have, they have!”

True enough, the trail of dead wild beasts with Imperial bootprints and the lighter tread of Stormcloak fur boots all the way up the mountain had given that away.

“Yes, the men of violence are here,” said Arngeir coldly. “In these sacred halls of peace, the warriors have gathered. I hope you know what you are doing, Dragonborn.”

“Oh no, Cicero is a fool as ever he was,” Cicero grinned. “But Delphine knows what she's doing, don't you, sweetling? Delphine, Delphine, come here, you must meet Arngeir.” He'd dashed back to her side and hauled her forward to meet Arngeir. Delphine looked up into the Greybeard's eyes. He'd taken one look at her armour and his face had closed up immediately.

“So. The dragon slayers want a place at the table too.”

“Isn't that why we're here? To deal with them?” She refused to be intimidated, even if he was taller than her. “Face it, you need us here too. Or are you going to let Cicero go in there on his own?”

Arngeir seemed to waver for just a second. “You lured the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. I have no doubt he was damaged before... but his loyalties seem cemented to you now.”

“You don't know him that well if you think he'd ever have joined you,” Delphine laughed. “Look at him, he lives for blood, always has.”

Arngeir did look at Cicero then, and as Delphine followed his gaze, she saw Cicero huddled, staring at them both, eyes pleading.

“Please stop,” he whispered. “Please stop arguing, please!!” Delphine stared at him, not really having expected this reaction. He was usually a little more resilient than this. _Split loyalties_ , the unwelcome thought occurred. Whether it was genuine fondness for Arngeir or draconic mind control, she didn't know. However, right here and now, it could be leveraged.

“It's alright, sweetie, come here,” she said gently, holding a hand out to him. Cicero trotted obediently over, wrapping his arms around her and yielding easily to her embrace. Arngeir watched, speechless.

“Now, I ask again, are you really going to send him in there on his own?” Delphine asked, locking eyes with Arngeir as she ruffled Cicero's hair.

“No, I – of course not.” Arngeir's voice softened as he regarded Cicero with genuine compassion. Of course, none of that compassion was being aimed at her. “Well, it seems you're the only one with any sort of control or authority over him, so I suppose you'd better all come in. Let's get this over with.” Turning away, he strode off towards the conference room.

“Are you going to be alright?” Delphine asked Cicero, feeling unusually worried. He was normally so fearless. He nodded, squeezing her and then letting her go.

“Cicero does not like it when Family fight. It is... bad.”

“The Greybeards are family now?” Delphine asked, eyebrow raised. “Don't think the Night Mother would think much of that.”

“Not like that,” said Cicero, shaking his head. “But Arngeir trained Cicero in the Thu'um, and has been very kind and patient with him ever since. You do not have to like him, my lovely, but Cicero would prefer it if you didn't fight.”

“All right then,” said Delphine gently. “Come on, we've got a treaty to negotiate.” Cicero seemed happy enough with that, and capered off after Arngeir. Esbern and Eola appeared at her side, having wisely decided to stay out of things.

“Well, he got you and Arngeir talking,” said Eola, impressed. “If he can do that with Tullius and Ulfric, we've got it made.”

There came an outraged cry from the other room, a feminine Altmer cry of “He is the Dragonborn?? That _fiend_ broke into my Embassy!”

Oh good. The Thalmor were here. Exactly what Delphine didn't need.

“We'd better go and help,” said Eola, detaching herself from Delphine's side, although what manner of help Eola intended was a matter for debate. Still, it gave Delphine an opportunity to confer with Esbern.

“I think you might be right about Cicero,” she said softly. “He's clearly got at least a few feelings of loyalty towards Arngeir. Not too much – there's a limit to what the Greybeards alone can offer after all. All the same, it's concerning.”

Esbern patted her on the shoulder. “Well, that's why we need to nip it in the bud. We can't have a Dragonborn that sides with dragons, can we? Come on, my dear, let's get these talks over with, and then we can find out whose side Cicero's really on.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“General, you did not tell me we would be sitting down to negotiations with that law-breaking reprobate!” Elenwen hissed, glaring down the table at Tullius.

“Technically speaking, he's not broken any law of the Empire,” said Rikke, just about managing to keep a straight face. “The Thalmor Embassy is under Aldmeri jurisdiction, we can't arrest him for anything he may have done there.”

Tullius rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. He'd expected Ulfric to give him trouble – he'd not expected this amongst his own side.

“He's the Dragonborn, Elenwen,” Tullius sighed. “I can't exactly just hand him over to you. The Nords in the Legion would never stand for it. Now, if you've got evidence it was actually him, then maybe after this is all over, we could look at some sort of extradition process.”

“He was at my party, disappeared and then I find the rest of the Embassy littered with bodies, vitally important documents gone and a prisoner of ours released!” Elenwen seethed. “What more evidence do you need?”

Cicero had taken a seat at the far end of the table, having recalled Delphine telling him it was best if he was as neutral as possible. He was sitting in the small stone chair, feet on the table, twirling his ebony dagger and enjoying the unfolding chaos with relish. Putting the dagger away, he leaned forward, all wounded innocence.

“Cicero is very sorry to hear that there was trouble at your Embassy after he left. After that little fight between two of the other guests, Cicero and dear Eola decided that perhaps things were getting a little too heated for their tastes and took the carriage home. He had no idea you had had a break-in. Perhaps Elenwen wants to look towards the Rift? Sounds like Thieves Guild work to him.”

“Erikur did say that Maven Black-Briar woman drew a dagger on him for no reason,” said Elisif, who had drawn the short straw and ended up next to Cicero. “Not surprised you went home early.”

Thank Sithis for naïve young women who'd ended up as Jarls. “Bless you, dear lady, you are most sweet and compassionate to poor harassed Cicero. Solitude is very lucky to have you as its Jarl, oh yes.”

Elisif blushed, putting a hand to her mouth. “Oh! Well, thank you sir, you're very kind to say so.”

“Hey champ, stop flirting with the Jarl. You're a claimed man, she's a grieving widow.” Eola sat herself down next to Cicero in the designated jester-minding seat.

“Cicero was not flirting!” Cicero protested. He genuinely hadn't been – it wasn't his fault that what was perfectly courteous and polite behaviour back in Cyrodiil was taken for a come-on by the Nords.

“I'm so sorry about him,” said Eola, smiling at Elisif. “I hope he's not bothering you.”

“Not at all,” said Elisif. “He's been perfectly friendly. I mean, he's a little... odd. But very polite. I'm sure he'd never ransack an entire Embassy.”

Cicero turned to Eola, grinning in triumph. Eola patted his hand, grateful for Elisif not being the most perceptive person out there. Unfortunately for her, Ulfric's perception was better than Elisif's was.

“That young Breton. Does she look familiar to you?”

Galmar looked Eola over from where the two men were standing on the far side of the room. “Is she a Breton or a Reachwoman? I can never tell.”

“The Dragonborn mentioned an Eola who accompanied him to this party where he may or may not have torn the place apart. I think that's her.” Ulfric nodded in her direction. Eola glanced up, something warning her she was being watched. She met Ulfric's eyes and her own narrowed for a fraction of a second before her gaze flicked back to the jester Dragonborn.

“A Reachwoman then,” Galmar noted. “The Dragonborn's lover? No, surely not, Delphine was all over him at Windhelm and she's sitting at the table now like nothing's amiss.” Sure enough, Delphine had settled the old man she was with next to Arngeir, and taken the seat next to him, shooting a poisonous glare at Elenwen.

“Ulfric, my friend,” said Galmar, looking at Eola and trying to work out who she reminded him of, “what are you getting at? Neither of us have been in Markarth for the last twenty years and she's not even thirty.”

“No, and neither of us have ever met her, I know. Even so... she's familiar. Galmar, do you think the Dragonborn might have brokered an alliance with the Forsworn?”

Galmar looked, and looked again, and slowly it dawned on him why she looked familiar. Not only that, the rumours and reports he'd heard of Madanach's recent jailbreak came back to him, including tales of a jester carving his way through the streets.

“Stendarr's balls, is that Madanach's daughter?” Galmar breathed. Ulfric nodded.

“I think it might be. He had four of them, but they were all whisked away into the hills after he was incarcerated. Now the Dragonborn's befriended one and brought her to the table. That does make things... interesting.”

“Are you still going to ask for the Reach then?” Galmar asked.

“Yes,” Ulfric murmured. “This is between us and the Imperials, and the opportunity to finish what I started twenty years ago is not one I intend to miss. That Madanach might get advance warning is not something I care about. They'll all know soon enough.”

Arngeir finally called the meeting to attention.

“Are we all here then? Very well. Ulfric, why don't you and your man there join the rest of us?”

Ulfric strode forward, preparing for a grandstanding speech.

“No. Not while that Thalmor is sitting across the table. I came to treat with the Empire, as a favour to the Dragonborn. I did not come to deal with the Dominion. She goes or I do.”

Ulfric could have sworn he heard Delphine mutter something like “Sweet Night Mother,” but he must have misheard.

“Why so hostile, Ulfric?” Elenwen purred. “We're here to ensure nothing's agreed to that would violate the terms of the White-Gold Concordat, nothing more.”

“Gentlemen, if we have to negotiate the terms of the negotiation, we will get nowhere!” Arngeir sighed, frustrated. “Ulfric, please. I'm sure Madam Elenwen is merely here to observe.”

“I can do without the Thalmor observing me,” Ulfric growled. “This is Skyrim's business, and they have no place in Skyrim.”

“According to you, no one who isn't a Nord has any place in Skyrim,” Tullius growled. “The Empire begs to differ.”

Voices were raised and the whole thing could easily have fallen apart if Arngeir had not got to his feet and raised his own voice, lacing his words with a little taste of the Thu'um.

“Dragonborn,” he called across the table. “What do you think? You've been unusually quiet so far. Both sides clearly respect you or they wouldn't be here. Should the Thalmor observe or not?”

Everyone fell silent, all turning to stare at Cicero, who had hunched down in his chair. He stared helplessly at Delphine, who also looked a little anxious.

“Arngeir, is this wise-?” she began to say, but Ulfric interrupted.

“No, no, let's hear it. He's a true Dragonborn even if he is Imperial. If he can offer me a sensible opinion on the subject, I'll abide by it.”

“Pretty big if,” Rikke muttered, eyeing Cicero dubiously. Tullius however didn't seem to share her pessimism.

“His mother had a brain. I'm sure he's inherited at least some of it. Well, Dragonborn?”

Cicero shot a panicked look Delphine's way, but from the shrug she gave him, it was clear he was on his own. Next to him, he felt Eola squeeze his hand.

“It's alright, Champ. Just give an opinion. Ulfric will have to stand by his word, and Tullius won't object, I don't think. Don't think he likes Elenwen any more than we do.”

“By Sithis, I hope you're right,” Cicero muttered. This wasn't right, Delphine should be doing all this negotiating, this was her strong point, not his. He'd have been all for stabbing Ulfric and sorting things out that way, contract or no contract. In fact, didn't Ulfric kill pretty Elisif's husband? Cicero idly wondered if perhaps he could talk with her afterwards, come to a discreet arrangement maybe. Delphine would probably not approve, but Cicero had the feeling a large bag of gold from the grateful widow would calm his Listener down. However, that did not help him now. To keep the evil harridan here or not. Well, when you put it like that...

“Cicero sees no need for the Thalmor to be here,” he pronounced. “Certainly not after the Ambassador had the nerve to accuse Cicero of doing things he most certainly did not do. Wise General Tullius and mighty Jarl Ulfric need to be here. Elenwen does not.”

Elenwen glared at him, before getting to her feet. “Fine. The Thalmor shall treat with whoever governs Skyrim when this business concludes. And you, Dragonborn, shall be remembered.” Without a second glance for any of them, she stalked out.

Ulfric smiled and finally deigned to take the seat across from Tullius, Galmar taking the vacant seat at his left and giving Eola a shrewd look. Eola had the feeling that just maybe the two Stormcloaks had recognised her somehow. No matter. They were the ones sitting unknowingly between two Dark Brotherhood assassins after all. Ulfric might take back the Reach... but the Forsworn would be ready for him.

Sure enough, Ulfric's first demand was for the Reach to be handed over to the Stormcloaks, with all the outcry from the other side that would be expected. Ulfric was unmoved.

“My price for peace is the Reach. That silver belongs in Skyrim, not sent out to Cyrodiil.”

“Andronica used to like Skyrim silver,” Cicero murmured sadly. No one heard him except Eola.

“Reach belongs to its people, not the Nords,” she muttered back, glaring viciously at Ulfric.

“Now, now everyone, I'm sure Jarl Ulfric does not expect something for nothing,” said Arngeir, shooting a pointed look at Ulfric.

“No, that'd be entirely out of character,” Rikke muttered. Cicero decided he liked Rikke. If he ever had to kill her, he'd give her a chance to fight back. Wouldn't help her, but at least she'd get to die with honour. Nords liked that sort of thing, right? In fact, if she had any money at her disposal, it might be worth asking if she and Elisif wanted to go halves on Ulfric. Technically speaking this wasn't exactly the Brotherhood's way, and once Cicero would have been appalled at seeking contracts without the Sacrament being performed, but he was bored and Ulfric was beginning to annoy him. 

“As if I trust you to make me a fair bargain,” Ulfric laughed. “I want the Reach, Tullius. And that is just my initial request.”

“Ulfric,” Delphine growled, clearly losing her patience. “You promised me you'd negotiate in good faith.”

“I promised you I'd agree to a reasonable offer. I've yet to hear one,” said Ulfric, looking rather too superior for his own good. Oh how Cicero would love to stab him, end his life right now, blood pooling over the table and on to the floor... but Arngeir would probably not like that, not even if Cicero offered to mop up afterwards. He was a bit odd about violence, didn't like it for some reason. Cicero didn't really understand that himself, but he was a guest and guests did not offend the hosts quite so blatantly.

“Sister, you're a Reachwoman. What do you think the Reach is worth?” 

Eola just looked at him, her expression cold and not a little angry. Surprising, Cicero hadn't thought she cared that much about politics.

“You expect me to put a price on my home?” she snapped. Her voice carried more than she'd intended, and slowly all eyes turned to her. Eola felt her heart sink at the realisation that she'd just stepped into the limelight that she'd personally rather have stayed out of, and that this whole business mattered to her more than she'd actually thought. _Da is going to kill me. But I can at least do something he'd be proud of. Not often a Forsworn girl gets to tell the Nords off._ Sitting upright, she swept the entire table with a cold look that was part Namira's gifts, part Mireen's endless lectures on how to carry oneself and part Madanach's charisma.

“What's the Reach worth? Apart from its silver mines, trade access to Hammerfell, ability to strike at the heart of Skyrim from, and the Dwemer ruins waiting to be plundered? Blood, Stormcloak. Blood and a thousand years of fighting. A thousand years of being landless in our own land. A thousand years of nothing to leave to our children, a thousand years of temples built to gods not our own, a thousand years of speaking a language not our own. A thousand years of blood, tears and fire, the fire we've rained down on the Nords, the fire in our own hearts. That is what the Reach is worth, Stormcloak. It's not the Empire's to give, not yours to take, never has been. You want to station your armies there, have your Jarl on the Mournful Throne? Well, you can have that... for a price. But don't ever think the Reach will be yours.”

Ulfric met her gaze unflinching, and in that moment, she knew he knew who she was, and she didn't care.

“Impressive words for one so young. Tell me, girl, are they your words or your father's?”

“They're the words of all of us,” Eola shot back. “Every single native of the Reach that your troops killed or enslaved. Exchanging one master for another – you think it makes a difference to us while we're still slaves? But I do confess that having you for a master will just make it all the sweeter when we rise against you. So take the Reach, Ulfric. Take your silver blood chalice and drink it. May it choke you all the way down.” She turned to Tullius, the fire in her eyes making even him flinch back a little. “Give him the Reach. But for nothing less than the Rift. I promise you, you will have the better end of that bargain.”

“Dragonborn?” asked Tullius, glancing at Cicero. Cicero just shrugged.

“Don't ask me, General. Cicero is not in the habit of getting in his sister's way when she wants something. He has seen what happens to those who do.” _Dead on Namira's altar in most cases._ “But he has one question for Jarl Ulfric. Would the new Jarl perhaps be willing to overlook bounties on the heads of certain individuals who had perhaps been instrumental in securing the throne for him? Certain wrongly-accused individuals who certainly never committed the heinous acts they were condemned for, of course.”

Ulfric did laugh at that. “Oh, is there a price on your head in the Reach then? I'm sure it's a terrible misunderstanding. I'll make sure Thongvor wipes the slate clean for you.”

Cicero grinned. He'd lost count of the number of people he'd killed that night. Certainly the resulting bounty was beyond the means of even Dark Brotherhood finances, as Delphine had tersely pointed out to him before now.

“Mighty Jarl Ulfric is most understanding. If the prices on the heads of Eola here, Esbern and poor misunderstood Cicero who was most shockingly framed by a corrupt Imperial regime for a whole series of terrible acts are lifted, Cicero has no problem with this.”

What the exact nature of those acts were, Ulfric didn't like to guess, but he imagined the bounties were considerable. Still, he'd make Thongvor see sense, or else he'd find another Jarl for the city.

Tullius nodded in agreement to all this and turned to Ulfric. “You have your price then. The Rift for the Reach. Your troops withdrawn from the Rift, Laila Law-Giver to step down as Jarl for Maven Black-Briar. In return, we'll let you have the Reach, and Igmund will step down as Jarl in favour of whoever you nominate.”

“You ask a high price,” said Ulfric, unable to shake the sense he'd been wrongfooted somehow. Still, the Reach was a valuable acquisition and damn the Forsworn. He'd dealt with Madanach before after all, and this girl with darkness in her eyes was not going to sway him now.

“Very well,” he said. Laila wouldn't be pleased, but he'd get the Rift back for her soon enough, he was sure. “The Rift is yours. You can expect my troops in Markarth within the week, and I'll expect Igmund to be handing over to Thongvor Silver-Blood before then.”

“It shall be done,” Tullius promised. 

“Well,” said Arngeir, surprised by how painless that had been in the end. “It seems we have a deal. Imperial troops to withdraw from the Reach, and Jarl Igmund to step down in Thongvor Silver-Blood's favour. Stormcloak troops to withdraw from the Rift and Maven Black-Briar to take over as Jarl. No aggression from either side until Alduin is dealt with. Are we agreed?”

Both sides were. With the deal done, Ulfric and Galmar left, with Tullius, Rikke and Elisif not far behind them.

Delphine breathed a sigh of relief. That had all gone so much better than planned. Cicero had behaved himself, all had acted like adults, she'd not had to get tough with anyone, they'd got the agreement they needed, and she could have watched Eola preach at Ulfric all day. Did the woman have any idea how impressive she looked doing that? And she was only twenty-five. Twenty-five! Delphine wasn't sure she could do all that now, never mind at that age. She was impressed. Were Listeners allowed to have a second-in-command? She'd have to ask Cicero, but if so, Eola was it.

“So,” she said, addressing Balgruuf who had remained behind. “Are you still willing to go through with our dragon trap plan now you've got your treaty?”

“I suppose I have to, now you've gone to all this trouble, don't I?” Balgruuf said, amused. “I must admit I never thought you'd actually manage it. But you did. So yes, Delphine and Cicero, my men will stand ready. Come to Dragonsreach and speak to me when you're ready, I'll do everything I can. I assume you have a way of summoning a dragon?”

“I do,” said Delphine. “Esbern here came up with one. Esbern?”

“That's right,” said Esbern. “If you know a dragon's name, you can shout it as a Thu'um and it will hear and hopefully come. Well, Cicero will be able to anyway. That reminds me, Delphine, did you tell Cicero the dragon's name?”

“Not yet,” said Delphine. “Wasn't sure he wouldn't shout it to see what happened. Cicero, Esbern's going to tell you the name, but you're not to use it until we get to Dragonsreach, all right?”

“Yes, Delphine!” Cicero promised, all enthusiasm now the tedious part was over and the bloodletting could start. “Cicero will not shout it yet, not until he's allowed. Tell me!”

“It means Winged Snow Hunter in our tongue,” said Esbern. “Three words of power – are you ready, Cicero? OD-AH-VIING!”

“Odahviing,” Cicero whispered, feeling the words, almost tasting them as they seeped into his mind a vision of death on wings, blood on the snow, fire and claws and great red and black wings. Odahviing... The urge to Shout it to the skies had never been greater, but he'd promised the Listener after all. 

“Odahviing,” he repeated, beginning to smile. “Yes. Yesss! Cicero shall call this dragon, yes, and Cicero shall bring him low.” He threw back his head, laughing, the caged dragon souls in his head whimpering as his own Dovah nature began to make its presence felt. _Yes, Odahviing, come, Ziizahro shall show you who is master. Ziizahro fen kos hin Thur!_ Cicero blinked, startled to realise he'd thought that in Dovah. He hadn't even realised he knew that much of the language. Nine dragon souls absorbed, and seven of those used to unlock shouts – seven dragon souls now part of him, and they wouldn't be the last. He shivered a little at the thought... and then laughed. Yes, he might be turning into a violent monster that lived for blood and death and fire, and that might be cause for concern... if he'd not already been one for the last twenty five years. He looked up at Delphine, eyes blazing with delight. “It shall be done,” he promised.

“I certainly hope so,” said Balgruuf as he took his leave. “I'd hate for all this to have been in vain, Dragonborn.”

Arngeir got up, weary from all the talking of war and likewise headed out. Delphine watched while Cicero thanked him profusely and promised to try and follow the path of wisdom. Exactly how genuine Cicero was being here was debatable, and Arngeir clearly guessed it too, telling Cicero that wisdom lay in right action and to do what was right, not what was easy. While Cicero was still trying to puzzle out what Arngeir could possibly mean by that, Arngeir made his escape, leaving the four of them alone.

“Are you alright, Eola?” Delphine asked. Eola had slumped over the table, shaking after her encounter with Ulfric. Cicero was rubbing her back, concerned.

“Namira help me,” the muffled response came. “Da's gonna be so mad.”

“Yes,” said Delphine, getting up and sitting next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders. She was dimly aware of Esbern taking the seat on her other side, but Eola was her main worry now. “But not at you. You did so well, Eola. He should be proud, and if he's not, more fool him.”

“Cicero particularly liked that bit about Ulfric choking on the silver blood chalice,” Cicero ventured. “Very poetic. Cicero can do actual choking if his sister wishes it? He only just left, we can still catch him if we run. As for a contract, well, Cicero is sure pretty Elisif will happily reward us for avenging her husband.”

“Cicero. Enough,” said Delphine. It made Eola laugh though.

“Best brother ever,” she said, sitting up and patting his arm. She glanced up at Delphine, smiling at her. “You proud of me then, Listener?”

“Yes,” said Delphine. “Very. You too, Cicero. You did really well under the pressure, much better than I thought you might. You didn't mention murder once!”

“Cicero is learning!” Cicero giggled. “Cicero is learning how to keep thoughts inside his head again. He used to be able to, but he got out of practice after so long alone. So he only thought about murdering Jarl Ulfric and harridan Elenwen and did not actually do it or even talk about it! And now the talking is over and Cicero can get his blades wet again. Can he, Listener? Can we go straight to Whiterun and lure this dragon to its end?”

“Maybe not straight there,” said Delphine, remembering Eola's story of how Cicero had used a Shout and leapt straight off the mountain. So did Eola if the way she'd just winced was any indication. “Besides, I have a special task for you to do first. Eola, you and Esbern go on ahead, wait for us in Ivarstead. I need a private word with Cicero, then we'll join you later.”

Eola nodded, getting to her feet, a little confused but apparently unsuspecting. Good. Meant she probably didn't know. Delphine couldn't risk her right-hand woman falling under Paarthurnax's control as well as her lover. 

“Come on, old man,” Eola said, taking Esbern by the hand. “Let's get you off this mountain. Get you to a nice warm inn with some mead inside you, hey?”

“That would be lovely, dear,” said Esbern, clearly feeling his age after all the excitement. He glanced back at Delphine, sympathy in his eyes. “Good luck to you both.”

He followed Eola out, leaving Cicero alone with Delphine, eager to know what this special assignment was.

“So, a special task for your Cicero,” the jester said, grinning up at her. “This is most exciting! Does Cicero get to kill someone? Please say yes!”

“Yes,” said Delphine, wondering how she could smile and hate herself for it at the same time. But it was the only way. “Yes, I need you to kill someone. It won't be easy but it needs to be done and you're the only one who can do it.”

“Say no more, Listener,” Cicero purred, shifting into Eola's vacated seat and nuzzling her neck. “Simply tell me who needs to die and Cicero shall see it done.”

“Not here,” said Delphine. “Can't risk the Greybeards overhearing. Don't think they'd approve somehow. Is there a courtyard of some kind out the back?”

“Why yes, Listener. And it is getting late, the Greybeards are old men, they won't want to be out there in the cold. Come, Cicero shall show you the way.” 

She let him take her by the hand and lead her out. This was it then. No turning back now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Right this way, Listener!” Cicero called, seeing no one in sight. As expected, the sun was setting and the cold courtyard was deserted. Not snowing right now, but give it time, give it time.

Delphine was looking about, clearly checking for eavesdroppers as well – but she also looked curious. Surprising, Cicero hadn't thought there was much out here to excite anything in the way of curiosity.

“Why the gates that go nowhere?” she asked, pointing to the pair the Greybeards had used to train him in Whirlwind Sprint.

“Training,” said Cicero, grinning. “Does Delphine want a demonstration?”

“No,” said Delphine. “Not right now. What about those other gates, where do they go?” She was pointing at the pair that led to Paarthurnax.

“Nowhere,” said Cicero, heart fluttering. “Just... up the mountain. To the summit. Where Cicero fought Alduin. Nothing up there, Listener. Just snow. And rocks. I mean, the view is lovely, but it's nice from here too. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?” He turned round, cheerful grin in place... and it died as he looked at her. She was staring back at him, eyes glacially furious and the look on her face one of utter betrayal.

“Delphine?” Cicero whispered. “Sweetling? What is it?” _Why so angry, what did I do, no, she can't know, she can't possibly know about Paarthurnax..._

“I know, Cicero,” she said, her voice shaky and distressed like he'd never heard it, and if he could get his brain to function properly, he'd go to her, but he couldn't move. “I know about Paarthurnax. Esbern found his name in the Blades library, found a few old reports. I know he's living on top of the Throat. Cicero, why did you never tell me??”

“Delphine,” he whispered, feeling his throat go dry. “Delphine, I'm sorry, I couldn't...”

She'd placed a hand to her mouth, and he could swear she was actually going to burst into tears and he never meant for this to happen, Cicero could more than cope with an angry Listener, but to see her cry and know it was his fault... please, Sithis, no, he couldn't deal with this.

“Esbern was right,” she managed to gasp. “He really is controlling you. Sithis help us.”

Control?? But that wasn't right, Paarthurnax would never force Cicero into anything, he was a kind and wise dragon, Cicero's dear brother. He had to tell her that, had to.

“ _Nid, Huzrahi, Paarthurnax ni los Ziizahro fus. Paarthurnax los zeymahii! Ziizahro los unslaad vahzah Kul-se-Monahvulon! Ziizahro los hin Deinmaar unslaad!_ ”

Delphine was staring at him in horror, and it slowly dawned on Cicero that the dragon souls within had been howling for the past few minutes now, the golden cage shaking as it tried to contain them, and that he'd not been speaking Tamrielic just then. _I don't even know Dovah!_ he protested, but deep inside he could feel something uncurling, something great and terrible and it would rip Tamriel to pieces if he let it.

“It's alright,” Delphine whispered. “It's going to be alright. We can get through this, Cicero. We can free you, it's fine. You just need to take me to him. Take me to Paarthurnax, and then we can kill him together, you and I, and you'll be back to normal or, well, normal for you anyway. It's alright, Cicero, just take my hand and lead the way. You can do this, I know you can, you're strong, you can beat this.”

“No,” Cicero growled, stepping back and reaching for his katana before he even was aware of what he'd just said and done. His eyes met hers and Cicero recoiled in horror. _Listener, I'm sorry, I don't know what's happening, please help me._

“What did you just say?” Delphine looked as shocked as he felt. 

“I said no,” Cicero heard himself growling again. “I'm not killing my brother for you.” Wait, where was this even coming from?? He was a Dark Brotherhood assassin, this was his Listener asking him to kill someone, what was he doing? The golden cage rang out, and Cicero's inner Dovah roared in fury. Before he knew it, Dragonbane was in his hand and he didn't even remember drawing it. Delphine had backed off, horrified.

“Cicero,” she gasped. “put it away. I'm your Listener. You're already breaking the Third Tenet, don't break the Fifth as well. Cicero, please, just stop this. Put the sword away. Put the sword away, kill Paarthurnax with me, all will be forgiven, I swear it.”

_Why yes Listener, of course, of course Cicero will do this thing for you, you have only to ask. He is your humble Keeper always, he would never disobey you,_ he wanted to say. All he had to do was say it, and everything he ever wanted was all his. The golden cage rang out again, the sheer force of it making him fall to his knees, Dragonbane slipping from his hand.

“Cicero?” he heard Delphine asking. 

“Let the Tenets be broken then,” he heard himself growl. “I will not do this for you. Not even if the Night Mother herself commanded it.”

He heard the words, could barely believe them, wanting to scream. _Fool, fool, what are you doing, you're ruining everything! The Night Mother is Mother to all, what are you saying???_ He could see it, see the horror in Delphine's eyes, see her face closing up, knew he'd lost her right then, lost everything that ever mattered, her, the Night Mother, the Brotherhood, everything.

“I gave up everything for you,” he heard her whisper. “My inn, my honour, my conscience, my life, _everything!_ Because you were Dragonborn and Brotherhood, because you would never leave the Night Mother so I had to follow. For you, I gave up my soul to Sithis and the Night Mother, turned to the dark side for you, and _this is how you repay me??_ ”

“I'm sorry,” he managed to get out, finally beating the dragon within back long enough to at least speak to her himself. “I'm so sorry. I can't do this. Please forgive me.”

“The Dark Brotherhood doesn't do forgiveness – you taught me that!!” she screamed at him, tears rolling freely down her cheeks. “It doesn't do mercy or kindness or anything other than just hunt down the prey and end its life. You taught me that, you! I wanted out after Maro died and stayed because you needed me, and now when I need something doing, you just say no??”

Cicero blinked back the tears in his own eyes. He wanted to say yes, say the word, make the kill, professional as always, but the cage was ringing out again, making his vision blur and his head hurt, every time he even tried to think about raising a blade to Paarthurnax. The cage that her damn god had put there.

“Your fault,” he managed to gasp. “You did this, you! You with your kindness and your compassion and your damn decency and your _deal-making_. Defiler Esbern lives when he should not, the Brotherhood has immunity agreements where it never used to, Astrid and her brood should have been _wiped out_ and they were not because _you were merciful_. Cicero was fine before he met you! Cicero was cruel and ruthless and cared little for anyone until you turned up with your talk of dragons and did this to him! _You put a dragon in my head!_ Your damn god, your _Talos_ , he's turned me into... I don't know what he's turned me into, but it isn't me any more. Cicero never had honour or needed it or even cared about it... _until he met you!!_ ”

He'd screamed the last phrase at her, realising its truth as he said it. Talos's dragon cage was rebelling at the very thought of killing Paarthurnax, but without Delphine trying to do the right thing left, right and centre, and feeling _guilty_ about killing, setting a damn example all the time... She'd ruined him. He'd changed for her even as she'd changed into the Listener he wanted. And now it was costing him everything. 

She'd gone very pale and reached for her own sword. Close to losing her temper, he could tell. Striking him down for his disobedience, and Cicero could barely bring himself to care. _Yes, kill me, you might as well, what use is an assassin who can't kill when ordered?_

“You will kill that dragon, Cicero,” she said softly. “You will kill Paarthurnax and return to me when it's done. Until you do... stay away from me. Don't even come near me. If Mother and the Tenets mean so little to you, then you can just walk away. Mother only wants obedient children in her Family.”

Cicero felt the fire die out of him as the words sank in. _Outcast... banished... after twenty-five years, after giving my entire life to the Brotherhood... no, she can't do this to me._ Except she could. She was the Listener, the Listener he'd found and moulded and taught the old ways to, the one he'd rebuilt the Brotherhood with, and she could do anything she liked. Including turn him away.

“Listener, please,” he whispered. “There has to be another way.”

She didn't even bother answering, just turning and walking away across the snow, head bowed and arms folded, hunched over and walking quickly away.

“Listener!” he cried, feeling his heart breaking, feeling everything fall apart inside. “Don't leave me! Please! Delphine! I love you, don't leave me!” He shrieked the last at her, but she just kept walking.

He felt his hand go to his dagger, slowly drawing it out. _Don't you walk away from me, damn you!_ It would be so easy, to Whirlwind Sprint after her, sink it into her flesh, draw it across her throat, destroy her like she was doing to him... The cage rang out again, the pain so bad this time he couldn't even kneel, just crashing to the ground, the dagger slipping from nerveless fingers as the dragon within howled and his mind was fire, all fire, flames of red and gold tearing him apart from the inside.

Cicero lay still on the courtyard, not even moving as he heard the door close and knew she was gone, utterly gone, his darling Listener gone forever, and he had nothing left, nothing at all. As the snow started to fall, Cicero lay there, the flames flickering out leaving nothing but ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, readers. Please don't hate me. This scene really hurt to write.
> 
> Next chapter will mostly consist of putting Cicero back together.
> 
> Notes on the Dovah - because obviously translations of that are the first thing on your mind after this:
> 
> Ziizahro fen kos hin Thur - Cicero shall be your master.  
> Nid, Huzrahi, Paarthurnax ni los Ziizahro fus. - No, my Listener, Paarthurnax isn't forcing Cicero!   
> Paarthurnax los zeymahii! - Paarthurnax is his brother!  
> Ziizahro los unslaad vahzah Kul-se-Monahvulon! - Cicero is still a true Son of the Night Mother!  
> Ziizahro los hin Deinmaar unslaad! - Cicero is your Keeper always!


	28. The Cure For Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Delphine's ultimatum, Cicero's already fragile grip on reality slips completely. Can Eola put him back together? With a little help... perhaps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this early as, well, I can't just leave Cicero like that! Poor boy's heartbroken. Thank Sithis for Eola, that's all I can say.

Delphine fled the monastery, sprinting down the pathway to catch up with Esbern and Eola, heedless of anything but the pounding of her heart and one horrifying thought running over and over through her mind.

_He said no. He said no. He said no._

Her boy, her Cicero, her Dragonborn assassin. Gone. Lost to her. Defying even the Night Mother in his madness. Esbern had been right, something was turning his mind, it hadn't been Cicero saying all those things, surely? Not her bloodthirsty little he-daedra who woke up every morning and the first thing on his mind was who needed killing that day. It couldn't be happening, it just couldn't. 

She turned a corner, and there they were, two people she could at least rely on, standing over the smoking remains of a frostbite spider. She covered the ground between them, ignoring Eola's stunned whisper of “Del?” and flung herself into Esbern's arms, burying her head on his shoulder, no longer caring about anything as long as she could get a little comfort. 

“Ah,” was all he said. “It didn't go well then.”

“What didn't go well?” she heard Eola ask. “Delphine, are you alright?? What happened? Where's Cicero?”

Delphine couldn't even answer. She was barely holding it together as it was.

“Del? Where is he? What's going on? Esbern, what is this?”

Esbern looked up at her, fear and trepidation in his eyes. “Eola, I fear we may have just lost the Dragonborn.”

“Lost... how can you lose him??” Eola demanded. “He's not exactly easy to lose track of! What in Oblivion did you do, Delphine?” Her anger faded into another emotion entirely as she realised what else it might mean. “Namira, no. No, he's not dead, he can't be...”

“He's not dead,” Delphine whispered. “But he's lost to us. To me.” Slowly, she lifted her head and dried her eyes, hardly able to look at Eola. “I gave him a kill order. He refused.”

“He refu- what??” Eola was barely able to believe her ears. Cicero refusing to kill someone? Unheard of. “Who'd you ask him to kill, Delphine??”

“There's a dragon living on top of the Throat-” Delphine began, but stopped as Eola's expression hardened into fury.

“You asked him to kill Paarthurnax???” Eola shouted at her. “You heartless _bitch!_ He loves that dragon!”

Eola saw the anguished look on Delphine's face and some part of her cringed in guilt, but the protective sister part of her that was currently worried sick about her little brother truly couldn't care less.

“You knew,” said Delphine, betrayal writ large all over her face. “You knew as well, and neither of you said a damn word.”

“Of course I didn't say anything, I knew you'd freak out over it!” Eola snapped back. “So what if there's a dragon up there, he's not doing any harm! And he's Cicero's friend!”

“And I'm his Listener!” Delphine shouted back. “Does that mean nothing? Cicero told me there were no exceptions for the Tenets, none. Now he turns around and just throws them back in my face because I want him to kill someone he likes? That's not how the Dark Brotherhood works, Eola!”

“Then to Oblivion with the Dark Brotherhood,” Eola hissed. Turning away without another word, she raced back to the monastery. Cicero needed her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

He hadn't been on the path but Eola hadn't really expected him to be. No, he'd still be at the monastery most probably. She couldn't even begin to imagine how he must be feeling. The Brotherhood, the Listener, were everything to him, and now he'd just lost both.

She staggered into the monastery, staring around the hallway. No Greybeards in sight, but no blood either. That was good, it meant Cicero probably hadn't murdered them all in a grief-stricken rage.

“Cicero!” she called out. “Cicero! Where are you? It's me, Eola. Cicero?”

A door at the back of the monastery opened, and Eola raced towards it. Torchlight flickered against the walls as did the shadows of two Greybeards. One was carrying something. She stepped forward to get a closer look.

The Greybeard called Arngeir was striding in from the courtyard, grim faced and with snow still clinging to his robes. In his arms was Cicero's limp form, covered in snow and pale as death.

“Cicero!” Eola cried, her heart breaking at the sight. “No, you can't be...”

“Eola, isn't it?” said Arngeir gruffly. “His comrade in arms. Yes, Eola, he lives. We found him in time. After we saw Delphine come running out from the courtyard, we expected him to follow. When he did not...”

“Is he going to be alright?” Eola whispered, falling into step behind Arngeir. She'd heard all sorts of stories about frostbite and hypothermia from Sapphire and prayed none of the dire consequences would befall Cicero.

“I hope so,” said Arngeir, his voice heavy. “We have all sorts of remedies for exposure, and I have some skill with the Restoration school. You?”

“Some,” said Eola. It wasn't her strongest suit by any stretch of the imagination, but she'd learnt a few things at Winterhold and Aranea's lessons on the subject had sunk in. “I'll do what I can.”

“Then let's get him warmed up,” said Arngeir, making for the Greybeard sleeping quarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They'd got him on to one of the beds, stripping his armour off him until he was down to his underwear. Eola had felt like crying to see Cicero looking so pale and fragile but she'd held it together, fetching potions and ointments and helping Arngeir to rub them into Cicero's lower limbs and chest. Cicero had stirred while they'd done this, crying out softly and wailing incoherently about something that sounded a bit like shoe lost has ray hissy sun? Eola had no idea what he was saying, so she hit him with Healing Hands until he subsided back into unconsciousness. They'd wrapped him in layers of fur held down with warm stones from the hearth, and she and Arngeir must have spent their entire magicka reserves on healing magic for him. Finally his colour had started to come back, and he'd drifted off into sleep.

“Do you know what he was saying there?” Eola asked. “It seemed to mean something but I've no idea what.”

“It's the dragon tongue,” said Arngeir. “After a Dragonborn's taken enough dragon souls, he starts to pick it up, but it normally takes a lot longer than Cicero's been Dragonborn. Not unless... not unless his mind was damaged. Then it would start to bleed through into his conscious mind and he'd start talking in the language without realising it.” He looked up at Eola, both of them guessing that Cicero's mind had been in a pretty bad state before this, and now...

“What was he saying?” Eola asked, stroking Cicero's back.

“ _Zu'u lost Huzrahi sizaan._ I have lost my... one who hears?”

“Listener,” said Eola, her heart breaking for the poor jester. “He's lost the Listener. Oh honey.” She leaned forward, kissing the top of Cicero's head, all that was visible under the heap of furs, and put an arm around him. No wonder he'd been out in the courtyard all that time. He must have lost the will to live. 

“I take it that's bad,” said Arngeir, sympathetic but a little confused. “Who is the Listener?”

“Delphine. It's her title,” said Eola, deciding it was probably best not to explain the title's exact significance. “You know she was his lover, right? Well... not any more.”

Understanding dawned on Arngeir's face as he reached out to squeeze Cicero's shoulder. 

“That explains much. While I can't say I ever approved of Cicero's connection with the Blades, even so, I would rather never have seen him like this. She must have meant a lot to him.”

“She meant the world to him,” Eola sighed. “I thought... I thought she felt the same, but apparently not. Look at him, how could she do this to him?? Cicero was hoping to marry her, and now look at the state of him.” She bit her lip, unable to say any more before she lost her temper or burst into tears or something equally ridiculous. 

“Alas, I am afraid heartbreak is a disorder beyond my skills to heal,” said Arngeir quietly. “But he and you are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. I'll have Borri and Einarth make up some guest quarters for you – we do have some spare bedrooms, although I think it best we don't move Cicero just yet. You're welcome to take the bed opposite.”

“Thank you,” said Eola. “I think I want to stay near Cicero though. I want to be here when he wakes up.”

“Understandable,” said Arngeir, getting to his feet. “Well, call me if you need anything. I think he'll be fine physically, but mentally... well, it's anyone's guess really, but if he trusts you still, you're probably best placed to help there.”

Eola nodded, unable to take her eyes off Cicero. Her brother. Her beloved little brother, and never mind the fact he was fifteen years older than her. He'd never acted his age and certainly never like older brothers were meant to. But he was her brother regardless and she wasn't going to abandon him now. Climbing on to the bed next to him, she wrapped her arms around him and drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eola woke up to darkness and a stone bed – and someone, a very male, practically naked someone, lying on top of her, currently nibbling her jawline before beginning to kiss her neck. Cicero. While it wasn't exactly unpleasant, and damn those hands knew what they were doing, the fact remained that this was all manner of wrong and she had to stop this before things got any more heated.

“Cicero, what in the Void – Cicero, stop it!”

“Listener,” she heard him moan as he began to trail kisses along her collarbone. “You're here. Listener, Cicero had the most horrible dream...”

“Cicero, I'm not the Listener!” Eola cried. “It's me, Eola!”

Cicero stopped, slowly lifting his eyes to meet hers. She couldn't see the look on his face, but his breath seemed to have just got shallower.

“Oh,” was all he said, a world of disappointment and heartbreak in that one syllable. Slowly he lay back down again, head resting on her shoulder as he snuggled up against her. She pulled the furs back around him again, might as well keep him warm at least. He was sniffling quietly into her shoulder.

“Eola fear-ola?” he whispered.

“I'm right here,” she whispered back, stroking his hair. “Right here, honey.”

“Don't leave me,” he begged, his voice breaking as he started to shake with silent tears that were more frightening than if he'd been howling his grief to the entire world.

“I won't,” she whispered, holding him as he clung to her. “I'll be right here. I promise.”

Cicero didn't answer, clinging onto her until the tears finally subsided and he fell asleep. Eola stayed awake for some time after, holding him and staring at the ceiling, wondering where on Nirn they went from here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

She had no idea how long she'd slept for, but it seemed like it was daylight, and she was alone in the bed. Someone, however, was shaking her shoulder.

“Cicero?” she whispered, rubbing her eyes.

“No,” said Arngeir, his voice grave. “Eola, he is awake and up, but...”

“Oh no, what's he done?” Eola sighed wearily. “He hasn't... stabbed anyone, has he?”

“No,” said Arngeir, looking faintly alarmed at that being the first conclusion Eola had jumped to. “But he is acting very strangely. Even for him. Eola, do you know of a place called the Dawnstar Sanctuary?”

Yes, although she'd never been inside. But Cicero had talked often of the abandoned Sanctuary under Dawnstar where he'd lived before finally setting out to take the Night Mother to Falkreath. That he was apparently walking around High Hrothgar talking out loud about it was not a good sign.

“Where is he?” she sighed, getting up and following Arngeir out. 

Cicero was sitting in the main hall of High Hrothgar, dressed in his jester outfit and re-arranging the flowers at the shrine there, humming quite happily to himself. He'd pick up each one in turn, examine it carefully and either replace it or tut irritably and throw it over his shoulder. Quite the pile of foliage was starting to build.

“Flowers for Mother!” he laughed. “Pretty, pretty flowers!” While rather unexpected the day after he'd just had his heart broken into tiny little pieces, it could have been worse.

“It's alright,” she said, motioning for the Greybeards to step back. “I got this one.” She settled down next to him, hoping for some sort of explanation.

“Cicero, what are you doing?” she asked. She wasn't sure she entirely wanted to know, but this was clearly not normal.

“Tending to Mother, of course!” he giggled. “Look, the flowers are wilting. I need to replace them. Can't have Mother's shrine falling into disrepair, can we?”

“Cicero,” said Eola, taking a deep breath. “Where do you think you are?”

This time, Cicero looked up, rolling his eyes and looking at her as if she was a bit simple. “Don't you know? You're one of the Sanctuary Guardians, I would have thought you would have known what you were guarding. We're in Dawnstar Sanctuary, of course.”

Oh dear. This was bad. Quite, quite bad. Heartbreak was one thing, a full-blown descent into madness was something else entirely.

“It's very strange,” Cicero continued. “You Sanctuary Guardians never talked to poor Cicero before. No, you just left him and Mother alone. Alone, with the dark and the nightmares and...” He stopped, taking a few deep breaths to calm down. Finally, he continued. “At least the latest one was a bit different. There was a girl in it, you know, she looked a lot like you. Lots of new brothers and sisters for Cicero, and a new Sanctuary, and dragons, and Cicero was something called Dragonborn. Can you imagine? Me, humble Cicero, with the blood of a dragon?” He laughed, as if this was the maddest thing he'd ever heard. “No, no, humble Cicero is just Mother's Keeper, no more. Oh, but the dream was such a nice one! There was a Listener too! A Listener, and she was so beautiful. So very very beautiful, and fierce and stubborn and cunning and ruthless, and yet so kind, so very kind and patient with poor Cicero. That was a nice part of the dream, when she took Cicero into her arms. Cicero has not had anyone touch him in years, you know. No wonder his dreams are getting... carnal.”

Namira help her, while she loved Cicero dearly, if he started describing the intimate details to her, she was actually going to cast some frost magic at him until he calmed down.

“Then she left me,” Cicero said sadly. “She left me, left poor Cicero heartbroken. Then... then I woke up. It was a nice dream, but it was sad, so very sad, and now it is over and Cicero needs to tend Mother. If you'll excuse him.” He went back to re-arranging the flowers, humming tunelessly, leaving Eola at a complete loss. As reactions went, it was entirely understandable that he might retreat to what he had been and decide the whole thing had just been a dream, but what in the Void to do about it? She wasn't a mind-healer, and even Aranea might have difficulty with this one.

“Arngeir,” she said, getting up and making her way over to the lead Greybeard. “I think we're in trouble here.”

“I gathered that, Eola,” said Arngeir. “Has the pain proved so great that he's completely lost his mind?”

“Yeah, and I don't know what to do about it. No use you trying either, he's just going to think we're ghosts. We need to find someone he trusts and likes, who even he won't be able to delude himself into mistaking for a spirit entity.”

Arngeir had never been a stupid man, and he immediately guessed what Eola was getting at. “You think we should speak to Paarthurnax.”

Eola nodded. “I think he's about the only one who stands a chance of getting through to Cicero. And not even Cicero is going to think a fifty ton winged lizard is a Sanctuary Guardian.” She noticed Arngeir's raised eyebrow and patted his arm. “Best you don't know.”

“I imagine so,” said Arngeir. “All right, I will go out to the courtyard and call Paarthurnax. If you can lure Cicero outside?”

Eola promised she would and made her way back to where the jester was still kneeling.

“Hey, Cicero. You were right about the flowers. They've clearly seen better days. But there's some nightshade growing right outside. It's really pretty, you should come and have a look. There's some mountain flowers too. You know, the red ones. You like red, don't you? Red flowers for Mother? Red like blood and your hair?”

“Red flowers for Mother?” Cicero sat up immediately. “Where? Where? Cicero likes red!”

“Right this way,” said Eola soothingly, dredging up what little of the Whisper still worked considering she'd not eaten properly in longer than she cared to think about. It was a good thing Cicero was so easy to persuade once you knew what made him tick. “Come on, follow me, they're this way.” He followed her to the courtyard, capering about quite happily in her wake. She distantly heard Arngeir shouting “PAAR-THUR-NAX!” but Cicero didn't seem to notice anything amiss. She opened the door and led him out into the sunlight.

Cicero blinked and rubbed his eyes, staring around him.

“But... this isn't where the entrance normally comes out. The sea's meant to be over there, not that mountain. Unless... unless it's one of those ice mirages Cicero has heard about. Yes, yes, it must be, foolish Cicero! Now, these flowers. Cicero hopes they're not far.”

Eola was saved from having to answer by Paarthurnax landing in the middle of the courtyard, snow flying everywhere and the ground trembling. Cicero clung on to her arm, barely managing to keep his footing.

“Dragon!” he wailed, hiding behind her... then looking up sharply. “You... you're real! Solid, I mean. You're... oh Sithis.” His face crumpled as the delusion broke.

“ZII-ZAH-RO!” Paarthurnax roared, and Cicero fell to his knees under the weight of the Thu'um, gasping for breath. Finally, he looked up at the dragon, his gaze hardening. 

“Cicero is sorry,” he said, drawing his dagger. Next thing anyone knew, he'd sprinted forward, leaping through the air and landing on Paarthurnax's head, dagger poised to strike.

“What are you doing, Ziizahro?” Paarthurnax asked calmly, even as Arngeir had cried out in horror.

“Cicero is sorry, _zeymahi_ ,” Cicero said through gritted teeth. “Cicero is under orders from the Listener. She... she wants you dead, my friend. Wants me to do it.”

“Dragonborn!!” Arngeir cried, furious. “You did not tell me this was what you planned!” He turned on Eola. “Was all this some elaborate ruse to get Paarthurnax at your mercy?”

“No!” Eola cried. “No, I mean, I knew she asked but Cicero said no, and she left him over it! That's why I came back, I knew he'd be devastated! I didn't think...” _Didn't think he'd actually do it..._

“I will not ask you to spare me, _mal zeymah_ ,” said Paarthurnax, seeming very calm for one so close to Cicero with a knife. “I have done many terrible things in my life, killed many innocents. It is only constant meditation that keeps me from giving in to my urges to dominate and destroy. I know you share that urge, Dovahkiin. It is the curse of our kind. Tell me, how do you keep yours under control?”

Cicero laughed wildly. “Paarthurnax, I am Vul Zeymah. You know I don't.”

Paarthurnax's lip curled in what was the nearest a dragon got to a smile. “Dovahkiin. Do you randomly kill whenever the urge strikes you then? Do you indiscriminately fight, rape and torture anyone who catches your eye? Do you then desire overlordship over your fellow joorre? Does humble Ziizahro not in fact live to serve?”

The dagger was shaking in Cicero's hand. “The Night Mother,” he whispered. “The Tenets. Cicero serves them. Cicero is a loyal Dark Brother. An obedient son to the Night Mother... and her true Listener. It is their will he follows, their voice. To disobey is to invoke the Bah-se-Volbormah.” His voice was shaking, and he'd lowered the dagger, kneeling with his head resting on his arm, clearly close to breaking.

“Dark Brotherhood. I knew it!” Arngeir did not sound surprised, just furious. Eola looked at her feet, feeling horribly guilty. 

“And if you break with them, slip out from under their control, you fear turning into a true monster,” said Paarthurnax gently, still sounding amazingly controlled for someone with a knife-wielding Cicero perched on their head. Cicero nodded, tears in his eyes.

“But they've ordered me to kill you, and Cicero doesn't want to!” he wailed. “But if Cicero doesn't, sweet Delphine will never love him again, and he will be all alone! Outcast! Banished! Cast out forever from the only Family he knows!”

Paarthurnax closed his eyes. “Brother,” he breathed, voice low and steady. “I have had a long life. If it is to be ended... I am glad it is to be done by one who will mourn my passing.”

“Dragonborn, no!” Arngeir cried, true panic in his voice. Cicero had closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks as he raised his dagger... and then let it go, the ebony blade falling to the ground. He slumped forward, clinging to Paarthurnax's horns and crying openly.

“Cicero can't!” he howled. “He can't do it. Not his brother. Not Paarthurnax. I can't – I can't.” 

Eola let go the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. _Cicero, you brave, mad, brilliant little fool._ She ran to him as he slid off Paarthurnax's head, reclaiming his dagger and huddling into a little ball.

“Cicero,” she gasped, falling to her knees beside him and pulling him into her arms. “Cicero, oh Namira, are you alright?”

Cicero clung on to her, howling his pain out on her shoulder. “Sister, sister, what is Cicero to do now?? He's lost everything!”

“Not everything,” said Paarthurnax, nudging Cicero in the back. “Brother... I thank you. You have honour.”

“But not the Listener,” Cicero wept. “Not the sweetest Listener ever again!” He broke down in tears, soaking Eola's armour. 

“Dragonborn.” Arngeir was standing over them both, frowning. “So. It is true, then. You are in the Dark Brotherhood.”

“Not any more!” Cicero cried. “The Listener threw me out until I killed Paarthurnax! And I – can't – do it! Cicero has failed! Cicero never fails! And now Cicero is banished! Forever!” He went off into another fit of tears.

Eola rubbed his back, trying to comfort him as best as she could. She looked up at Arngeir and was surprised to see him looking sympathetic.

“Dragonborn. I won't tell you not to be upset, because I can see what this has cost you. But you have done the honourable thing today... and whatever happens in the future, know that here and now, I'm very proud of you. Maybe you'll find yourself walking the path of wisdom after all.”

“It huuurts!!!” Cicero wailed. “Cicero does not want to be wise if it feels like this! Eola, make it go away!”

“Champ, there is no spell called Banish Heartbreak,” Eola sighed. “If there was, trust me, everyone'd be learning it.”

“Then someone should invent one!” Cicero snapped. “Why is the College of Winterhold wasting its time researching trivia when it could be inventing important things like spells to make Cicero not hurt, hmm? Maybe Cicero needs to pay them a little visit, convince them of the urgency of the requirement.”

“Cicero, _no_ ,” said Eola firmly, guessing correctly the exact nature of Cicero's intentions towards the College mages. “We've got a dragon to trap!”

That did get Cicero's attention. “We do? I mean, we are still doing that?”

“I should hope so, Dovahkiin,” said Paarthurnax from where he was stretched out on the snow. “Did you not go to a great deal of trouble to organise a truce for this very purpose? Alduin is still out there. Your world may have fallen apart, but you can still save the world for everyone else.”

“Cicero is no longer sure he likes this world so much any more,” Cicero muttered. “Maybe the next one needs to be born, hmm?”

Arngeir and Paarthurnax exchanged pained glances. Fortunately, it was Eola who saved the day.

“Screw the next world, I don't want to die! Just because Delphine dumped your dragon-loving arse, doesn't mean the rest of us want to get eaten by Alduin! What about me, hmm? You want Alduin to eat my soul?”

“It would be poetic justice for someone to eat you for once,” Cicero growled. He staggered to his feet, brushing the snow off and reaching a hand down to help Eola up. “But you did let poor, brokenhearted Cicero cry all over you, so I suppose I should be grateful. Come on, Cicero has armour and weapons somewhere, we had best find them if we are going to do this.”

Eola smiled, feeling more hopeful than she'd done all night. The insulting had resumed, which meant he was going to be alright.

She turned to Arngeir and Paarthurnax, both watching Cicero make his way back into the monastery.

“Thank you,” she said. “For helping him. I don't think he's going to say thank you, but I appreciate it. I know he's a handful, but he's still my brother.”

“I know,” Paarthurnax laughed. “Believe me, Yol-Ah, I know. I do not like seeing him unhappy either. I do however appreciate living. Take care of our brother, Yol-Ah. He is fortunate to have you as a companion.”

“Don't I know it,” said Eola, waving as Paarthurnax took to the air, returning to his home on the summit, leaving her alone with Arngeir.

“Thank you too,” she said, feeling a little shy around him now the emergency was over. “I know you and him don't always see eye to eye on, well, anything, but I'm glad you were there for him.”

“I won't deny he's not who I'd have bestowed the dragon gift on,” Arngeir admitted. “All the same, he's growing on me. He's a very damaged man, but it's my duty to at least try and guide the Dragonborn towards wisdom. Yes, I know, not an easy task with this one.”

“Redefine wisdom and you might manage it,” said Eola, smiling. She really didn't envy Arngeir that particular duty. Her job description was just 'keep the Dragonborn out of trouble' and that was hard enough.

“He is wiser and more honourable than he was when I first met him,” said Arngeir. “It is something. Sky guide you, Eola.”

“Old gods keep you, Arngeir,” said Eola in return, deciding the Forsworn greeting was rather more appropriate than anything in Namira's lexicon. She re-entered the monastery, following the sound of Cicero singing to himself while he gathered his things together. They had a dragon to trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are, emergency jester first aid complete. He has a hard road ahead of him, but he'll get there in the end.
> 
> Next chapter can be summed up in four words: Cicero's Journal, Volume Six.


	29. Cicero's Journal: Volume Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delphine's back at the Karthspire Sanctuary, getting used to life without Cicero around. Right up until she finds his journals...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been planning this chapter for a while. Not an awful lot action wise, but you knew the journals had to be in here, right? There's the five in-game volumes... and then there's volume six. Which I had to write myself but had a lot of fun doing. :D

“Did I do the right thing?”

Delphine had arrived back at Karthspire the previous night, to find all four of its other residents relaxing in the main hall, Sapphire playing some sort of incredibly dangerous looking knife game with Aventus while Aranea and Calixto looked on, apparently placing bets on who'd injure themselves first.

Breaking the news to them that Cicero and Eola were no longer Dark Brotherhood members had not gone down well. All had been shocked, and when she'd said why, Aventus had promptly screamed at her that she was a horrible, evil woman for kicking them out and he hated her – well, he had up until Calixto had given him a firm smack to the back of the head and told him she was still Listener, keep a civil tongue in his head. Thank Sithis for serial killers with old-fashioned values.

She'd retreated to her room, unable to face anyone or anything, not least the unpleasant task of clearing Cicero's things out of the room. He didn't have a lot of possessions, and most of them he had with him, but there were a few spare weapons of his lying around, various clothes and books, and of course the Night Mother's maintenance gear. Well. She supposed that was her job now, wasn't it. 

So in order to try and get the sound of Cicero shrieking after her not to leave him out of her head, she'd performed the full Night Mother oiling ritual and was now curled up at the Unholy Matron's feet. She didn't really have anyone else to talk to after all.

To her surprise, a response came.

_“You did the only thing, Listener. True, it was not a sacred contract... but an order is an order and it is dangerous to set a precedent in these matters. I fear my Keeper has become... undisciplined.”_

And that was probably Delphine's fault as well. Cicero had been right in one thing – the Cicero she'd first met would have happily gone off to kill the old dragon. He'd changed. She'd changed him. All those times he'd seen her brokering deals, sparing people who perhaps shouldn't have been, all the times she'd made elaborate plans so as to not have to go down the simpler but more brutal road of simply removing obstacles by murdering them... In salving her own conscience, had she given Cicero one?

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I know you liked him. So did I.” _I more than liked him, I adored the little madman... still do. I hope he's alright. I hope Eola's taking care of him._

_“Liking someone has very little to do with it. A lesson Cicero has clearly forgotten. Still, it was not a contract I gave, but a personal request from you. So do not despair. There is a chance. It is all down to you.”_

“Me?” Delphine had to wonder about that. She'd told Cicero not to come back until Paarthurnax was dead... and deep inside, she knew he wouldn't do it. Or if he did... he might never forgive her for making him do it. He might come home, tend to the Night Mother, play the happy fool in public... but he'd move out of her room and there'd be no question of him Keeping the Listener. She'd lost him whatever happened, she knew that.

_“It's an order from you. An order you can change – or retract.”_

“I can't take it back, Mother,” Delphine sighed. “It'll make me look weak. Cicero doesn't respect weakness. He needs strength in his lovers, craves it. If he shows up here with Paarthurnax still alive and I just take him back like nothing happened, how does that make me look?”

_“Oh Listener, I agree he cannot go unpunished. But if he comes to you with a suitable form of amends... listen to him.”_

It would have to be one impressive peace offering. On the other hand, if there was one thing she'd learned about Cicero, it was that you could never reliably predict what he might come up with next. However, there was still the question of dragon mind-control. He'd not been himself, he just hadn't been, and when he'd started talking to her in some language she didn't even recognise, and hadn't even seemed to know he was doing it... that had not been her Cicero, she was sure of it. She'd told Esbern on the way back and he'd looked grave, saying he thought it might have been Dovah, and if it had been, that wasn't a good sign. He was researching it now, although she'd not been able to give him a lot to go on regarding what Cicero had actually said. But she'd recognised a draconic version of Cicero's own name, Paarthurnax's name repeated, the words lashing danemer and unslaad or eternal (she knew that one at least), something that sounded like needus rahee, and the phrase kulsi monavalon. Esbern had looked a bit weary but agreed to look into it. She'd hoped he'd find something. Whatever it had been, it was important, she was sure of it.

The Night Mother had fallen silent, and Delphine began to clear up, packing away cloths, oils, the Keeping Tomes, all the various bits of paraphernalia into the small casket Cicero stored them in. The Tomes themselves, three huge thick books with all sorts of accumulated Brotherhood lore that Delphine fully intended to study properly one of these days, she propped up in the corner. She'd only needed the first two for the oiling – two ancient twin volumes that pretty much covered the ritual required. The third looked a little different – same size and shape, but the design wasn't quite the same and it looked newer. Like a much later addition. This merited a closer look. Sure enough, this book had once had a title, but it looked like someone had removed it. The leather binding was damaged where words had once been, like someone had glued a ribbon, laid it over the text and ripped it off. Cicero's work? But why would Cicero deface a Keeping Tome? Unless...

She reached for the book and unfastened the leather strap binding it together. Sure enough, the flyleaf announced it to be, not a Keeping Tome, but a mundane treatise on Restoration magic in the time of Queen Barenziah. Pursing her lips, Delphine turned the page, only to find the rest had been glued together and hollowed out, leaving a large space to store things. Something Cicero hadn't wanted anyone to find. Six leather notebooks of the type people used for journals.

Delphine reached for the oldest of the six and flicked it open. There was the handwriting she knew so well from all the various love notes he'd liked to leave for her, usually along the lines of _'Blood is red, assassins are violent, thanks to you, Mother's not silent. Hail Sithis! Love, Cicero'._ Well, no one had ever accused him of bardic talent, but it had made her laugh. Now here she was, reading his journal. A journal he'd clearly not intended for anyone else to see. Still, wasn't like he was ever likely to return for it. Gathering the volumes up, she retreated to bed and began to read.

She scanned the first page of the first volume. Evening Star, 186 – this was years old! He'd been keeping a journal for that long?? As she kept reading, her heart skipped a beat as she realised this dated to well before he'd been Keeper. He'd just fled Bruma from the sound of it... and he was sane. Gloriously, beautifully sane, matter of fact even. Murderous as ever, but with a wit and intelligence to him that shone through every word. _Darling boy. I wish I'd known you then._ She would have liked to have talked to that so very different man. Of course, he'd probably have been as likely to slit her throat as take her out to dinner, but there was something here she could easily have loved. No mention of Andronica yet. Strange. Maybe he'd wanted to keep this journal as a professional record rather than a personal one. She kept reading, feeling her breath catch as he told of Sanctuaries lost, and then horror as he wrote of Bravil, of Alisanne killed, of Andronica cut to pieces. Dearest sister, he called her, was all he allowed on to the page, but Delphine knew what she'd been to him. The poor boy. He must have been... well. Probably feeling the same way he was now.

And it had been in that state they'd made him Keeper. Honoured and saddened, he'd been. Vowing to be the best Keeper, if he could no longer be the best assassin. And then it started to happen. The long slow descent into madness as his mind, already damaged by Andronica's loss, started to crack under the strain. Delphine wanted to slam the book closed right there and put the entire collection away, but she forced herself to keep reading. Forced herself to read, tears streaking her cheeks as the others all died, years passed, and his mind broke. She'd never wanted to hold him so badly, but he wasn't here. He was gone.

Volume five, and this was different. More upbeat, if still the work of a madman. Plans to come to Skyrim, find this old Sanctuary in Dawnstar, rebuild the old ways. Poor Cicero, it had seemed like a fool's dream... but he'd done it in the end. Here he was writing of his disdain for Astrid, but acknowledging that he would never be Listener, and setting out to find one. Well, he had. Delphine closed the book and put it with the others, before turning to volume six. If volume five had ended with him planning to leave Dawnstar for Falkreath, volume six must be... She picked the book up, a lump in her throat. Thicker than the others – well, it would be, so much more had happened in such a short time – and with a stylised dragon drawn just inside the front cover, the initials CdR in the corner. Clearly Cicero had been feeling a little artistic. Settling down, she began to read in earnest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_24th Sun's Height, 4E 201_

_How long does it take to build a carriage?? And when they said the horse would need to come from Windhelm, Cicero did not think they meant they'd need to breed one for him! They say it's because of this war that's just broken out. Stupid Nords. Stupid Nords and their stupid war. Cicero could end this war for them quite easily. A large bag of gold and Cicero would happily kill this Stormcloak Jarl, neatly solving an awful lot of problems._

_Another month, they tell me. It had better be no longer than that. Mother's getting impatient... and so am I._

_17th Last Seed, 4E 201_

_Finally! It is ready, all ready. All that remains is to oil Mother one last time, pack up everything, get the coffin crated, and send a letter to Astrid to apologise for the delay. They're bringing the carriage round in a few days. And then... then we shall be off. To Falkreath, in search of a Listener. A true Listener, who shall join with me and restore the old ways. Rebuild the Brotherhood. Rebuild me. This Sanctuary is peaceful, but every night, the dreams. Damaging poor Cicero, as if he has not suffered enough. No, it's time to leave._

_Soon._

_25th Last Seed, 4E 201_

_Well. Cicero can honestly say today has been... eventful. He had expected beasts and bandits. He had not expected the dragon. The beast... I can hardly bear to write this, but I must. The beast breathed fire at Mother!!!! I still shiver to think of it. But I took care of the dragon, oh yes, and taught it a lesson. It burned and boiled as it died, and sometimes it still feels like the beast is watching me from inside my head. But it is dead, and Mother is safe, and that is the important thing._

_Yes. Safe. But not at the Sanctuary I was expecting. Fate has smiled on me, it seems. Cicero has found a new friend. A new Sister! Hiding, on her own, in a little village in the middle of nowhere! When the Jarl's men found me after the dragon attack, and took me back to their city, Mother... I think Mother spoke to me. Called me... Dovahkiin. Cicero has no idea what this means, and had to ask his new Sister how to spell it._

Delphine had to laugh at that memory. She'd wondered at the time why Cicero had sidled up to her with a frown that first night at the inn, and asked her how to spell Dovahkiin. He'd looked so earnest and confused but damnably cute with it, and she'd only just managed not to laugh. She'd told him, thinking he was just the type who needed to see a word written to truly get it. Now she understood.

_So Cicero is Dovahkiin. Dragonborn. Ridiculous. Cicero has no dragons in his family tree, he is sure. ~~Apart from the one in his head, Sithis, make it go away.~~ Cicero is certainly not an ancient dragon-slaying hero of legend. Pretty Delphine is clearly very smart, but she is surely wrong about this. Although Cicero certainly would not mind taking on another dragon. It has been a long time since Cicero has killed anything. He's missed it! _

_Pretty Delphine. Older than me, but not so old she's weak and fragile, no. She was dressed like an adventurer when Cicero first met her, and that fancy katana of hers has seen use. Clearly a very kind and compassionate lady though, to help poor Cicero so in his hour of need! She took me to the Whiterun blacksmith's shop, so very like Cicero's own dear childhood home, and got me armour and weapons. I have a steel blade, leather armour, and a hunting bow of my very own, with some fancy Orcish arrows. She paid for them all for me, and took me and Mother back to her inn. I offered her gold, there was plenty in that dragon's body. She wouldn't hear of it, said it's not right for the Dragonborn to be roaming Skyrim with only a dagger. Told her not to worry, Cicero was most capable with said dagger. She just looked at me and told me my assassin's tricks wouldn't work on a dragon._

_She knew who I was, who Mother was. I nearly stabbed her when I realised, would have done if the guards had not been watching. How can she know???_

_How do you think, she said, looking at me then as if I was some sort of, well, fool._

_I nearly cried when I realised. She is one of us. She's a Dark Sister. She's been living alone, hiding after her Sanctuary was destroyed, it appears. Wayrest, she must be from Wayrest then, she must have escaped the corsairs somehow and got to Skyrim. It turns out she had the misfortune to get on a Thalmor watch list, and she doesn't want them to find her. They've killed too many people to get to her already, so she tells me. My poor sister. Poor sweet lonely Delphine. Cicero knows, knows how it feels to see a Sanctuary burn and know it's all your fault. Well, no more. Cicero shall take care of her while he's with her. Maybe Cicero can persuade her to come with him. Cicero would like that._

_For now though, Cicero is here. He's not sure why though. She's obsessed with him being Dragonborn. Cicero thinks she's lived amongst Nords too long personally. But she seems to think Cicero needs to visit these Greybeards on the top of the Throat of the World, as does everyone else. But she thinks that Cicero first needs to go this Ustengrav place and retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. She says it'll be dangerous, but if Cicero is as capable as he says, there should be no trouble. It's time away from delivering Mother to her new home, and that chafes. But on the other hand, if Mother really does want me to kill dragons and visit these Greybeards, then who is Cicero to argue? Astrid can wait._

_We leave tomorrow._

Delphine wiped a tear away. Poor thing. It had been necessary, she was sure he'd have killed her otherwise, but the pathetically happy look on his face when he'd realised what she was implying had been plain adorable. Then they'd gone back to Riverwood and talked, and while she'd had to be careful not to give away her Blades membership, she'd been able to be truthful enough about a lot of things and it had been a relief, such a relief, to open up to someone, even if it was a Dark Brotherhood assassin who happened to be a Dragonborn. He'd told her things too, not everything, but enough. And she'd listened. She'd listened to this childlike, fragile Dragonborn talk about how everyone had died and he'd been all alone for so long, trying to find the next Listener. She'd had no idea she'd prove to be it, but nevertheless he'd looked so vulnerable and young at the time, she'd let down a few barriers of her own, correctly guessing this one would respond far better to a bit of kindness than to the usual tough act she liked to put on. Having an attractive younger man, even if he was clearly insane, being sweet and affectionate to her was simply a nice bonus.

If only things had stayed that way. She read on.

_26th Last Seed, 4E 201_

_Long journey! Skyrim is bigger than Cicero had thought. But we are here in Morthal. Small. Dreary. Dull. Boring. The people are so... parochial. They're all complaining because a wizard has moved in. Honestly. They're such peasants._

_The inn is pleasant enough, but the bard is awful. Delphine paid him 100 septims not to sing all evening. 100 septims!!! Told her Cicero would have been happy to silence him permanently for free. She told me to behave myself or... She stopped then and just told me not to jeopardise the mission. I swear she was blushing a little. Said too much perhaps, sweet Delphine?_

_I do believe she has dear Andronica's tastes. Now isn't that interesting._

Damn. He had noticed. She'd told herself off at the time, to get a grip and not start responding to him just because he was there, smiling and squealing and being helpful and generally acting like the stereotype of the perfect submissive and hitting all of her sexual buttons quite hard. Now of course she was looking back, reading this and realising he'd got the measure of her too.

_26th Last Seed, 4E 201. Night._

_WHY CAN'T I SLEEP????_

_Mother is not here. Delphine is in her own room, the one with the big double bed across the hall. Cicero cannot sleep. Cicero is lonely. And very very bored._

_Slipped out of the inn to go for a walk. Morthal is dark at night. No street braziers. The buildings all dark. The guards have torches but that's it. Lots of dark corners and a big swamp to hide bodies in! Cicero likes Morthal by night._

_Ran into a woman trying to sneak into the house next to the inn. Carrying a bucket full of oil and some torches. Clearly up to no good. Bade her a friendly good evening and she started casting Vampiric Drain on me! Or she did until Cicero shoved his dagger between her ribs anyway. Harder to kill a vampire than a normal woman, but she didn't seem to be very powerful. Neonate from the look of it. Hid the body in the swamp, disposed of the oil. Cicero likes fire, but not near the building he's sleeping in._

_Slept very well indeed after that._

Dear sweet Talos. She'd heard about a woman in Morthal disappearing the next day, but hadn't at the time known Cicero well enough to connect it with him. She really couldn't leave him alone for a second. Of course that just reminded her he was out there on his own forever now. Blinking the tears back, she moved on.

_27th Last Seed, 4E 201_

_Ustengrav was delightful._

_There were bandits. And necromancers. Fighting each other. Made it so easy to pick them off. Delphine was trying to come up with some sort of plan, but Cicero knows how to deal with this sort of thing._

_I think she was impressed._

Impressed wasn't quite what Delphine remembered feeling. Vaguely sickened by all the blood and the sheer _speed_ with which he'd moved and the scarily short time between three bandits and a necromancer fighting each other, Cicero moving in for the kill and then all of them lying dead on the ground – that was what she remembered feeling. The truly frightening thing was that after a few hours in Ustengrav, she'd got quite used to it.

_Cicero certainly was. Pretty Delphine can fight and sneak like Cicero. The Draugr were no match for us. Cicero could have watched her all day. If she wants Cicero's help in any more dungeons, she need only ask._

_If she wants Cicero to do anything else for her... Cicero wouldn't object too hard to that either._

Delphine did have to stop at that point. It was some time before she'd recovered enough to continue.

_It seems there may be something to this Dragonborn business. Delphine saw only a wall of rock with carvings. Cicero saw it glowing. Saw one word calling to him, and knew it was Feim. Next thing Cicero knew, the dragon in his head was gone and he was... different. He had power he didn't have before. Delphine told him to try Shouting it. So he did and... it appears I can become ethereal._

_Cicero definitely needs to speak to these Greybeards._

_31st Last Seed, 4E 201_

_LIAR! DECEIVER! BETRAYER!_

_CICERO HAS BEEN **LIED TO**!!!_

_She's not a Dark Sister at all! She's a Blade! _

_My sweet Delphine lied to me. Pretty Delphine was using me. For what, I don't know. But I will find out._

_Cicero will have to kill her. It brings him no pleasure. She was kind and so lovely. But it was all a lie._

_He could have loved you, sweet Delphine. Maybe he did. It's too late now._

It was even longer before she could return to the diary after reading that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_1st Heartfire, 4E 201_

_Lying Delphine lives._

_She said she was Listener. Cicero has heard that before, and it was a lie. But she knew the words. The Binding Words. She could not have read it in the Tomes. Cicero had the Tome with the words in it with him._

_She cannot be Listener. She's not even one of us._

_But she knew the words. And she had a contract for us._

_It can't be true. Cicero cannot trust her. She is surely not the Listener. She is lying again._

_But Cicero cannot kill the Listener, not after searching for so long. And she is new, she knows nothing of the old ways._

_Cicero could teach her._

_A Listener that Astrid has not had the chance to corrupt. Surely not._

_No. These are a fool's thoughts. Cicero cannot believe it yet._

_We go to Volunruud tomorrow. If this Motierre is there, then Cicero shall believe. Not before._

_2nd Heartfire, 4E 201_

_She is Listener._

_She is Listener. SHE IS LISTENER AHAHAHAHAAHAAAA!!!! PRAISE SITHIS! The Night Mother has spoken! The silence has been broken! The Listener has been chosen! ALL HAIL THE LISTENER!!!_

_She is Listener. She was telling the truth. Thank Sithis I spared her. My Listener. My beautiful Listener. Dark and deadly and cunning and... oh Sithis, this was meant to be, it must have been. I was meant to find her here, like this, bring Mother to her so she could realise her destiny._

_I could have kissed her. As it is, I restrained myself. The Listener does not need a fool subjecting her to his carnal urges, no. That would anger her. She might end up... punishing me. That would be ~~blissful~~ terrible. Yes, terrible. Was what Cicero meant to say._

_Enough. What this means is that I don't need to go to Falkreath to find a Listener. I have one right here. ~~And she is beautiful.~~ My duty is clear, it seems. Mother needs to stay with the Listener. Which means so do I. Mother will still need tending, and what sort of Keeper lets his Listener do menial things like that? Not Cicero, no. So Cicero will stay to tend to Mother, and to teach this new Listener the old ways. Train her, mould her, teach her everything she needs to know... and then serve her. However she wants, in any way she requires. ~~And if she requires humble Cicero kneeling between her perfect thighs and tending to her, so much the better.~~ Foolish Cicero. Pull yourself together._

_Dragons. She's obsessed with dragons. The Blades were dragon-slayers, she wants to stop dragons coming back, and she swore that she'd serve and protect the dragon blood, which I apparently have. Well, she's not serving me. She can serve the Night Mother. That will do. And then Cicero can be the happy Keeper and serve her as she deserves. Yes. This pleases me._

_Cicero could not be happier. He found a Listener... and it's her. Beautiful, kind, sweet, lethal Delphine. Thank you, Night Mother. Thank you so much for bringing her to me. Thank you for giving me to her._

_This is where Cicero belongs. Cicero is home. At last._

Delphine wiped the tears away, trying to harden her heart against him. Damn near impossible. She should never have let her guard down in the first place, should have kept him at a distance, kept things professional and businesslike, and with a sane Dragonborn, that would have been the case. But this one had just looked so vulnerable and appealing and she couldn't resist him, no more than he'd been able to keep away from her, and it had ruined them both.

“Cicero,” she whispered. “What did I do to you?” But no. She couldn't get sentimental. Not until he'd proven himself again. It was just so very hard reading of a time when he'd been very definitely all hers. He must have written all that right before coming to see to the Night Mother and finding her still down there. No wonder he'd been all fire and intensity and whispering of her needing someone to tend to her.

_5th Heartfire, 4E 201_

_Sithis help me. Delphine sent me on a quest to find a new recruit._

_I found her. Can I send her back?_

_Although she did melt the face off that Draugr. That was impressive. She can raise the corpses too._

_What else she does with corpses is best not dwelt on._

_7th Heartfire 4E 201_

_Cicero is worried. Delphine is off without him doing dangerous things, no doubt. Sister Eola is presently asleep in her room at the inn, and she knows little about dragons._

_A pity, because Cicero has two of them caged in his head, and he's a little worried. At least the cage is there now. It wasn't before, and the dragons were running rampant. But Delphine prayed to Talos for me, and now this cage is there. It holds them well enough... but Cicero is changed._

_Everything is calmer. Clearer. I don't think so fast now. The world looks different. I'm thinking differently. Can't explain it. Wish I knew how. I don't like it though. I... can think about things again. Properly, in detail. It's been a while since I could do that. I am out of practice at it._

_It is as if the last few years were a dream and I am only now waking up._

_I wish Delphine were here._

Delphine lowered the journal, chilled to the bone. The cage her god had put there. She'd forgotten it entirely, but she had prayed and Talos had answered. He'd stabilised Cicero so he could capture dragon souls without going insane – well, even more insane. It had clearly had other effects. An ability to think about what he was doing, reflect on his actions and the consequences thereof.

In other words, a conscience.

He wasn't being mind-controlled. He hadn't been lying when he'd said she'd done this to him.

 _All my fault, this is all my fault, I've made a horrible mistake..._ She laid the book down, breathing deeply. She'd had no choice, she reminded herself. He'd have lost his ability to function entirely otherwise. And it wasn't a bad thing to have a conscience. And just because Cicero wasn't being controlled from outside didn't mean Paarthurnax deserved to live either. She read on.

_11th Heartfire 4E 201_

_Cicero has another new Sister. Praise Sithis, this one is sane. Almost normal in fact._

_Unlike Eola, who is more trouble than she is worth. All the same... Cicero is glad she is not dead. She makes Cicero laugh._

_15th Heartfire 4E 201_

_Ahahahaha! AHAHAHA! Now that is what Cicero calls a party!_

_We went to the Thalmor Embassy and we didn't find a lot out about dragons, but we have one lead, so that is something._

_But there was stabbing and fire and blood. So it was not time wasted. _

_Cicero found Delphine's file. Her existence is an affront to the Thalmor._

_They shall not touch my sweetling. Not a hair on the Listener's head shall be harmed by them. Not if Cicero has anything to do with it. They have chosen the wrong assassin to mess with. This night is but a taste of what will happen if my Listener is harmed._

_Others have touched my Listener too. Including a thief called Brynjolf who we rescued from the Embassy. I can barely relate this, but feel I must. He... lay with... my darling Listener. While Cicero was off in Markarth recruiting the brazen hussy Eola, he was taking his pleasure with the Listener. With MY Listener._

_Cicero was merciful and did not gut him. It turns out that after Delphine's baser urges had been satisfied, she decided Brynjolf was... unsatisfactory. Heh. Cicero is too well-bred to speculate in what exact way (too big? Too small? Lacking in staying power perhaps?) It doesn't matter. What matters is that he could not satisfy her... because she was too busy thinking about me._

_The Listener wants me. It is Cicero in her mind and her blood. Cicero who she craves when lust gets the better of her._

_I must speak with her. As soon as I can get her alone. Clearly she needs me to tend to her. Humble Cicero lives to serve._

Cheeky little bastard. There had been nothing wrong with Brynjolf exactly... he just wasn't Cicero. Delphine lowered her eyes, lump in her throat. She missed that fiery protectiveness, and she realised that what she also missed was no longer having to look over her shoulder in fear of the Thalmor. Because she'd had Cicero at her back, and he could protect her from anything. Now he was gone, and she felt vulnerable again. She turned the page.

_16th Heartfire 4E 201_

_I am writing this by the light of one candle. Quietly so as not to disturb the Listener. She's sleeping. She looks so peaceful. So happy._

_She's lying next to me, in her secret room. I spoke with her about... matters carnal. She resisted at first, but Cicero was persistent. At last I got at the truth of the matter. She is afraid of losing another lover._

_So is Cicero, but it's clear the Listener needs him. Cicero lost his last love because he wasn't there to protect her. That mistake will not be made again. I will protect you with my life, my sweetling._

_So she finally broke and claimed me. I have been permitted to kiss her, taste her, see her in her pleasure, see her in all her naked glory. I have been marked as hers._

_I did not intend this journal to ever get so personal. This was meant to be about my life as a servant of Sithis, no more. That was before I met her. Now she is Listener and to serve her is to serve Sithis. I am truly honoured._

_I should rest now. Time to sleep, so that I can better serve her in the morning. Sweetest of Listeners, humble Cicero is yours to command._

This wasn't a journal, this was turning into an extended love letter, albeit one never meant to be sent. Admittedly very little of it was things she'd not already known or guessed – Cicero didn't exactly play his cards close to his chest emotionally. But it was beautifully written, touching, romantic, sweet and no one had ever written about her like that before, no one. Damn it. If she'd read this just a few days earlier... Would it have changed anything? She didn't know. All she knew was what she'd just lost – the sweetest, most devoted madman she'd ever known.

_18th Heartfire 4E 201_

_We have a new home from home, thanks to Cicero's newest brother. Sister Aranea has recruited the Butcher of Windhelm! Cicero has heard about him. Interesting knifework! Just STABSTABSTABSTABSTABSTABSTAB! And then... STABSTABSTABSTABSTABSTABSTAB!_

_He of course protests it was all a lot more precise than that. Cicero will let him have his little delusion. At least the Butcher is a civilised murderer ~~unlike the brazen hussy Eola.~~ _

_There is also a new sister, the thief Sapphire, who recruited herself. Apparently the Guild are not doing so well of late. That is such a pity. Clearly they need a Night Mother and Listener to tell them where the good and bad heists are._

_And finally, we have Delphine's friend Esbern. Now this is a problem. He is a Blade and an expert on dragons, and Cicero does appreciate that Delphine does not want the Thalmor hunting her friend, and that his dragon knowledge might be useful for humble Cicero now that he has dragons in his head. However, the dear Listener has not told him of her new exalted status, in fact she's currently letting him believe we're a Blades cell. Exactly how long she expects to keep this up for, and what she has in mind for when he finds out, Cicero has no idea. I'm sure she has a plan though. She always has a plan. Cicero is sure his beloved would not simply be making it up as she goes along._

Delphine didn't know if Cicero meant that or was just being sarcastic. Either way, she had a feeling that he sometimes looked up to her just a little too much.

_But he has a new Sanctuary for us. Hidden, in the mountains of the Reach. Secret. Safe. Known to none. He and the Listener are going to look for it tomorrow, and they are taking sweet Cicero with them. Hussy Eola is also coming, but one cannot have everything. Cicero just hopes her disgraceful appetites do not give us away._

_20th Heartfire 4E 201_

_It is as Cicero feared. Esbern knows. He defiled Mother's home, looked upon her remains!! HOW DARE HE!!!_

_Cicero would have killed him had he been at liberty still. As it is, Cicero is the Listener's now and must abide by her will._

_So is Esbern now, the ~~lucky lucky man~~ filthy defiler. The Listener has taken him prisoner. It is that or death. She is far too merciful. But he is her friend, I suppose._

_Cicero shall leave this journal here for now, with Mother. He'd hate for it to fall into the wrong hands. He can reclaim it later after we have our new home._

_23rd Heartfire 4E 201_

_Much has happened. So much has happened. We have our new home. Hussy Eola is the daughter of Madanach, the Forsworn King. It turns out Sithis is one of the old gods of the Forsworn. It turns out that his chosen Listener is regarded as a Matriarch by the Forsworn and we as the Night Mother's children are Sithis' sacred priesthood._

_It is rather nice to walk around the Forsworn encampment near our new home and be saluted. But Cicero must not let it go to his head._

_Cicero also got to break out of a maximum-security prison, kill a pillar of Markarth's community and then go on a street rampage, murdering everyone! Well, not everyone. But lots of people!_

_Delphine sent Eola's sister Kaie to make polite enquiries as to the exact price on my head in that city. When the figure came back, she went very pale and then beat me severely, all the while pointing out that bounties cost money and as I was hers, it was therefore her money and the Brotherhood's money my lack of discipline was costing, and did foolish Cicero perhaps not think how that sum might be paid back were he to be apprehended for this?_

_Told her they would have to catch me first, which on reflection is not the wisest thing to say when one is naked and tied to a pillar and at the Listener's mercy._

_She switched from a wooden paddle to a cane. Cicero still cannot sit down properly. He regrets nothing._

_Besides, we have bigger problems. Astrid knows about us. She's hunting us. Cicero knew we wouldn't be able to avoid her forever, but he had no idea it would be this soon._

_Sister Aranea has already had to flee our Windhelm base with Sapphire and the Butcher. They're here too with Mother at Delphine's inn... and the Aretino child who bought our services and brought us the warning. He saw Cicero trying to sneak into Mother's room and the fool tried to scream. He is fortunate Aranea woke in time. He is also fortunate Delphine makes her bedroom door's hinges squeak on purpose._

_We cannot stay here now. This place could be watched too, although Aranea thinks they don't know about the inn yet. It is only a matter of time though. If Astrid has ears in Whiterun, and there's no reason why she wouldn't, she'll soon hear talk of the jester Dragonborn who Delphine the Riverwood innkeeper took up with._

_We buy a carriage tomorrow and get everything of Delphine's moved to our new home, along with Mother. No chance of a return trip, it all has to go now. Cicero shall miss this place. It has many fond memories. But it is not safe, not any more. This saddens me, but we have no choice._

_25th Heartfire 4E 201_

_Made it. Journey from Oblivion itself. Cicero is in agony and exhausted, but we are home and safe and Delphine has been warned._

_Cicero sleeps now, yes?_

Delphine winced a bit at that one. She'd been a bit harsh on the poor boy, but she'd anticipated him going to Riverwood, tending to Mother, resting in comfort before leaving for High Hrothgar, coming back to Riverwood and then getting a cart and returning with Mother at a leisurely pace, not having to travel through the night on a carriage with literally everything she owned, three other assassins and a small boy loaded on as well, with his welts barely healed and constantly looking over his shoulder in case Astrid's people were behind him. He should have drunk a healing potion, but the poor jester was stubborn about keeping his marks as long as possible – it was so he knew for sure someone loved him and he hadn't been dreaming the whole thing.

He probably still had the marks from the whipping she'd given him on the road to Solitude. It was small consolation.

_28th Heartfire 4E 201_

_Harlot! Treacherous, conniving harlot!!!_

_That... that strumpet Astrid has misused the sacrament. She wants to get her filthy hands on MY Listener! She shall not have her. She shall not have Mother either._

_Cicero has never seen Delphine so frightened. She tells me Astrid wants me killed. Let her try._

_Cicero is all for marching on that Sanctuary and subjecting it to a good Purification. But the Listener says Mother wants us to be a united Family. So we have to negotiate._

_By Sithis, this is not right, not right at all. Delphine's plan... it's insane. It's frightening. She... she wants to walk right into the trap, offer herself as bait, unarmed, unarmoured. She wants to look like a victim, tell Astrid some story of me abducting her after finding out she was Listener, of me being an insane lunatic who keeps her like a dog and beats her and uses her..._

_I want to cry just thinking about it, but I must stay strong for her. I must..._

_She made me hurt her._

_Cicero hurt the Listener. Cicero bit her, grabbed her by the hair, scratched her. Held her by the throat so she couldn't breathe, then let her go. Over and over again, all the while demanding to know whose she was, who she belonged to. The Night Mother's Chosen, Sithis' sacred Listener... and I made her submit to me. Then when she'd given in... I pinned her down and took her until she screamed. There was blood._

_That she crawled into my arms afterwards and thanked me is no consolation. That she even appeared to have climaxed from the whole ordeal is even less so. So did I, and by Sithis, I feel tainted. I don't write this here for any base titillation. I harmed the one I swore to love and adore, even if by her own orders. She doesn't even seem to think I did anything wrong._

_Cicero is the worst kind of villain. He doesn't deserve her loving kindness. And if he loses her entirely... Sithis, please. Please keep your Anointed safe. Cicero is sorry. He didn't want to, he didn't, he swore he'd never do that to a woman again, he promised after Bruma fell._

_Please don't let her die to punish me. Cicero can punish himself if the Listener will not._

Delphine should never have read this volume. She'd known she was taking a risk, but to see Cicero's soul bared like this... it was heartbreaking and worse because he not only didn't know she was reading this, he'd likely never know and she couldn't talk to him about it either. He'd not said half of this to her at the time, only clung to her quietly that night and told her he could never hurt her again, please never ask him. She'd soothed him, said she was sorry, told him she never would again. It had seemed to pacify him, but reading this, she wasn't sure anything short of utterly humiliating and hurting him would have really done the trick.

_28th Heartfire 4E 201. Evening._

_Cicero has told her he loves her._

_If she dies tomorrow... at least she knows. Oh Sithis, please please, don't let her die. Sweet Mother, keep her safe. Delphine, Delphine, you are the love of my life, don't do this, please..._

_She will not be dissuaded though. My Delphine is a stubborn one. And Cicero will at least be close at hand. It is not a bad plan, I suppose. But dangerous! Very dangerous._

_Cicero has new armour though. It is utterly sinful. He likes it! The Listener likes it too, he could tell. She gave him a new sword, called Dragonbane. Dragonbane for the Dragonborn, get it?!_

_Cicero adores his new weapon. It is meant for killing dragons, but it will do quite well for upstart heretical Listener-stealing false Brotherhoods too._

_Yes. It will do very well indeed._

_30th Heartfire 4E 201_

_It is done. The plan worked. Delphine is safe. Astrid surrendered. We have an agreement. Cicero does not trust them, not entirely. But we have done Mother's will in this._

_Delphine told Cicero she loved him too. Cicero is an undeserving fool but also a selfish one, and if she says that to him again, he will be the most contented Keeper in the world._

_There was a Word Wall in Astrid's Sanctuary. Cicero can kill people with a word now! Heeheehee! Cicero likes being Dragonborn._

_He would like it even more if he could breathe fire like a dragon. He knows one word of that Shout! But not the others, and Esbern doesn't know either. So it looks like Cicero will have to visit the Greybeards again. He was meant to see them anyway, but with Falkreath on the march, he couldn't. There is a Shout that can knock a dragon from the sky, but no one knows what it is. Maybe Arngeir will. Cicero just hopes he does not ask any awkward questions. He may have promised kind Arngeir that he would cut off all ties to Delphine and the Blades..._

Yes, Cicero had told her all that after he'd got back, cheekily confessing that Arngeir had not been pleased, but he'd managed to charm the information on Dragonrend out of him regardless. It had seemed a little unlikely to Delphine, especially as Cicero had been vague on how he'd acquired the fire breathing words. She assumed he'd asked Arngeir about that first, but of course now she knew Arngeir had taught him nothing of the sort. He'd met Paarthurnax and something had changed. She was determined to find out what.

_1st Frostfall, 4E 201_

_In Rorikstead. Eola asleep already. Probably wishing to avoid the lecherous advances of that farmboy. Cicero does not blame her. The boy Erik is but a child and surely unknowing of how to truly pleasure a woman – that's if he's ever had the opportunity to try. Well, we were all young once, and even Cicero was unknowing at one time... although surely never quite that clueless._

_So Cicero is distracting the boy and keeping him talking so he does not get any... ideas... about trying his luck with Eola. She may be a shameless little hussy, but she can certainly do without this one's pitiful advances. It appears he knows of a certain Nordic tomb nearby that might well have a Word Wall. Warned Cicero off, said there were probably Draugr, but Cicero is not afraid of Draugr. Now if only he can slip away from under Eola's watchful eye and sneak in there..._

_2nd Frostfall, 4E 201_

_So those are the famed Companions. Two of them at any rate. A Nord called Farkas and a young Imperial girl of barely twenty. They let Imperials in the Companions! Cicero had no idea! Wonder if they would let poor Cicero join..._

_No, no, foolish thoughts, and somehow Cicero thinks they would disapprove of his methods. Apparently sneaking is in some way dishonourable and unbefitting of a true warrior. Huh. Cicero saw the state dear child Ria's skills were in – if they wished her to die in honourable combat, they are going the right way about it. Cicero has given her a few lessons. It is not much, but it will help her survive the dishonourable combats that comprise the vast majority of fights Cicero has seen. The sweet child is nice and pretty, it would be a shame for her to die so young. She has the same gift Cicero has for avoiding blows. Pity she is still hung up on honour. She might otherwise make a good assassin. She's from the north of Cyrodiil too, parents living in Cheydinhal! Imperial mother, Nord father – well, stepfather, it turns out, she never knew her real father either. But she was raised on tales of glory and honour and wanted to taste it for herself. Cicero decided not to break the news to her that real fights are mostly just blood and steel and someone dead at the end of it, with very little glory about them. She'll learn eventually._

_She reminds me of someone. I can't think who. Since Dawnstar, Cicero's memory is not as reliable as it once was. He hopes he is not starting to suffer the ravages of age. He's barely forty!_

_Anyway, they have their fragments, Cicero has his word – part of Fire Breath, but not the right part, curses! And, er, sweet Eola has the voice of a Daedra in her head. Cicero feels rather guilty about that..._

_4th Frostfall 4E 201_

_Visited High Hrothgar. Alas, poor Cicero was unable to keep wise Arngeir from finding out that he was still involved with the Blades. Did set him right on one thing – Delphine did not seduce me into joining her!!! She offered me an adventure, and then Mother chose her and the already very pretty became beauty itself._

_Cicero digresses. Where was I? Oh yes, talking to Arngeir. Cicero was persistent and only had to get a little angry before Arngeir told me what I wanted. He does not know Dragonrend either, but he knows someone who might and sent me to talk to his leader, Paarthurnax._

_What he did not tell me is that Paarthurnax is a dragon!!_

Delphine sat bolt upright. It was dark outside, she was reading by lamplight, it must be gone midnight by this time, long gone, but she didn't care, she had to keep reading.

_There's a dragon on top of the Throat of the World!_

_Fortunately for all of us, he is friendly and did not try to eat poor Cicero. He was nice. Cicero likes him._

_Then... he named me. In Dovah. Zii-Zah-Ro! Spirit-Finite-Balance, it means. Cicero has no idea what that's supposed to imply. Paarthurnax just laughed and told me names weren't destiny and I could rise to greatness as easily as descend into madness. Cicero keeps telling everyone, he isn't mad! Of course, he'd rather not rise to greatness either. Humble Cicero lives to serve, in the shadows. Sithis, please don't make a ruler out of me._

Ziizahro. Spirit-Finite-Balance. Not just an accented pronunciation of his own name, but a draconic name in its own right. It even suited him.

Delphine slowly began to realise just why Cicero had been so reluctant to harm Paarthurnax.

_Eola got a name too, apparently she is Yol-Ah the Fire Huntress. It's not fair, why is her name so much more frightening than mine?? Cicero's Dragonborn, not her!_

_But that doesn't matter. Paarthurnax gave me a gift. Cicero can BREATHE FIRE!!!!! AHAHAHAHA!!! HEEHEEHEE! FIRE!!!!_

_Delphine will not approve._

Damn right she didn't! Who on Nirn would teach Cicero to breathe fire? How was this remotely a good idea? 

_But Cicero doesn't care. FIRE!_

That. Right there. That was when he'd slipped the leash. Apparently that was all it took to get his loyalty – whoever offered him the most potential for mayhem. Delphine felt her heart sink. How in Oblivion was she supposed to top teaching him how to breathe fire?

_Paarthurnax is clearly a most kind and wise dragon. Although it did get awkward when he revealed Alduin was his brother. But he seems to accept the idea of Alduin having a contract out on him. Indeed, he seemed very accepting of the whole idea of Cicero being in the Dark Brotherhood. A surprise. Not many are._

No, and the ones who were usually got recruited, if they weren't clients. Of course a dragon with plans for world domination wouldn't mind a Dark Brotherhood Dovahkiin. 

_Not that dear Paarthurnax is ever likely to join, of course. He has turned from Alduin's side. He is a peace-loving dragon now. For so long, the only dragon. The last, living up here, all alone except for the Greybeards and whatever disciples came to see him – not many of those in recent years either. He must have been so lonely..._

_Cicero knows loneliness too. Poor Paarthurnax. Well, he has Cicero for a friend now. Cicero shall be sure to come and see him when he can. He called Cicero_ zeymah _. Brother._

Brother. Zeymah. Delphine recalled what Cicero had been babbling at her in Dovah. She'd not understood a lot of it, but she remembered part of it now. Paarthurnax zeymahi? Paarthurnax his brother. No wonder. No wonder he couldn't do it. _Cicero, you're not meant to form connections like that outside the Brotherhood!_ But he had and... damn. Damn Cicero for developing empathy at exactly the wrong moment, for exactly the wrong... dragon. Of course Cicero would feel sorry for someone who'd been all alone, the last of their kind, for years and years. It was what had drawn him to her after all.

_Wise Paarthurnax does not know Dragonrend either, but he did tell Cicero eventually how to find out. After asking Cicero questions. Odd questions. About why Cicero wanted to save the world when he was a son of Sithis. Cicero hadn't really thought about it. Delphine and Esbern seemed to want him to, so he's taken the job. He'd not really asked questions about why – Dark Brotherhood assassins never do. Why would we?_

_But Cicero answered, and Paarthurnax seemed happy with that. Cicero likes this world. It's pretty. Shiny. It has the Listener in it. Sweet, darling Listener Delphine. Cicero wouldn't want Alduin to eat her soul. Cicero has sworn to cherish and protect her and so he shall. From the Thalmor. From World-Eating Dragons. From heretical false Brotherhoods. From anyone!_

_Sweet Listener. Dear Listener. This is an awful lot of trouble you are putting your dear Cicero to. But he will do it. For you._

_The world is a better place with her in it. Of course Cicero wants to save it._

Delphine put the journal away, unable to stop shaking. She collapsed back down on the bed, wiping tears from her eyes. Not only not being mind-controlled... he was saving the world for her. So she and he could live in it. And she'd just asked him – no, ordered him – to kill someone he cared about. It didn't even matter that Paarthurnax could in theory betray Cicero as easily as he'd betrayed Alduin. If that ever happened, she had no doubt Cicero would be the first in line to bring Paarthurnax down. He didn't take betrayal well.

He was still hers. Always had been. And she'd turned him away. _Cicero, I'm sorry, please come home, I forgive you..._ It was too late. She had no idea where he might have gone after High Hrothgar. Where would you go if you were a heartbroken assassin cast out from everything you'd ever known? Where might Cicero go after this? Loyal, heartbroken Cicero, still the Night Mother's at the end of the day, still Brotherhood to the core, probably (hopefully) still loving her? Dragonborn Cicero with a job to do that only he could manage?

In a heartbeat, she knew, and she didn't care that it was one in the morning. She had no time, damn it. Reaching for her leather armour and her katana, she hastily got dressed. She had a dragon trap to intercept.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What on Nirn is it, Delphine?” asked Esbern, blinking as he opened his bedroom door. He habitually kept quite late hours, it was true, but even he'd been in bed by this time of night.

“Esbern,” Delphine gasped, waving the sixth journal in his face. “I found Cicero's journal. I read it. He... he's still loyal to us, Esbern. To me. I'm his whole damn reason for saving the world, and I just broke up with him, Esbern, help me!”

“Delphine, you're not making any sense,” said Esbern, wondering if he actually was awake or just dreaming this whole encounter. “What's in the journal?” He flicked it open and began to read a random section and his eyebrows shot up. “Good gods, Delphine, is this a diary or a love letter?”

Delphine hastily grabbed the diary back, blushing a little on realising Esbern had found the entry written right after she and Cicero had first made love. 

“Not that one,” she said hastily. She turned to the Paarthurnax entry and made him read it. Esbern looked at it and at length back to her.

“Delphine, I'm not sure I get what difference this makes. We knew he was fond of Paarthurnax or why protect him?”

“Paarthurnax isn't planning to take over the world when Alduin dies,” said Delphine, her mind racing. “Otherwise why ask why Cicero wanted to kill Alduin? He'd have just said yes, fine and helped Cicero. Only reason he'd ask why is to make sure Cicero wasn't planning world domination himself, wasn't going to kill Alduin just to replace him. And Cicero said... Cicero told him he wanted to save the world because he didn't want me to die. Because he wanted a happily ever after... with me. And I just took that away from him, so yes, it makes a damn difference because he's out there somewhere, all alone with a broken heart!”

“Delphine,” said Esbern, placing a hand on her shoulder, “I appreciate this has all been very difficult for you and I know you have feelings for him but...”

“I'm in love with him, damn you!” Delphine shouted back at him, wrenching her arm away. “No one has ever written anything about me like this, no one! No one's ever written about sex with me as a mystical experience before and I doubt it'll happen again, so yes, I'm going to find him and... I'm going to find him,” she finished, unsure what exactly she'd say or do when she found him but just knowing she had to. 

Esbern was watching her warily, backing away a little and Delphine felt guilty for frightening her old friend, but damn, this was important!

“I need to know,” she said softly. “What he said. I worked out Paarthurnax zeymahii from this. What was the rest?”

Esbern seemed to calm down, retreating into his dragon-lore for safety as he took a seat by his desk, casting a magelight so he could look at his notes. “Well, when I'd finally got through your butchery of the Dovah language, don't look at me like that, Delphine, your ability to recall it properly is appalling, I did come up with a rough guess. Needus ray hey, well, when I realised you'd conflated two separate words, that was relatively easy. Nid is Dovah for no, and words ending in I are usually first-person possessives, so it was probably 'no, my Huzrah'. Nearest translation I could get for Huzrah was a word used to command someone to listen.”

“No, my Listener,” Delphine breathed. “Of course. Go on, what else?”

“Well, kul-se-Monahvulon was the easy part,” said Esbern, warming to the subject. “Se is usually used to join two words together and means one is of the other. Kul is son, and Monahvulon – given its similarity to Monahven or Mother Wind, the Dovah name for the Throat of the World, it wasn't hard to see it meant Mother Vulon or Mother of the Night. Given you said it was coupled with unslaad or always, I imagine he was declaring himself a true Son of the Night Mother.”

Oh Cicero. Of course he was. Of course he always, always was. She sank into the chair by the hearth embers and let her head fall into her hands.

“What about that last bit?” she asked, feeling that was the most important part of all, remembering the agonised look in his eyes as he cried out the unfamiliar syllables to her. “Ziizahro lashing dane-mer, or dunmer?, unslaad.”

Esbern rolled his eyes. “What it says about you two that the first word that comes to mind linked with his name is lashing, I'd rather not speculate. It's Ziizahro los hin Deinmaar unslaad.”

“That's what I said!” Delphine protested. She decided to overlook Esbern's pointed tutting. “What's it mean?”

“Well, los means is, hin is the formal form of your – wouldn't have thought a lover would use it to his beloved, but your dynamic always was an odd one. Deinmaar now, that gave me trouble. But I worked it out in the end. Keeper. It means Keeper. Cicero was saying he was your Keeper always. Delphine? Delphine, my girl, don't cry, please.”

“I'm sorry,” Delphine managed to gasp, vision blurring over with tears. Esbern passed her a handkerchief and knelt with some effort by her side, holding her hand. “It's just... oh Talos, Esbern, Keeper is the title for the Listener's official consort. He'd asked me to marry him, but I hadn't given him an answer because there was too much else going on. But he was fine with that because as long as I'd not actually said no, he could live quite happily on hope.”

“He's got the feelings of a husband for you,” Esbern realised. “Delphine, I'd not realised... well, how was I to know, he doesn't act like someone looking to settle down!”

“He's not the most traditional of men,” Delphine admitted. “But he knows what he wants. He was on his own for so long, all he wants from life is company. Someone who talks back to him. Someone to love. Of course he wants a spouse, he needs someone he knows isn't going anywhere. Damn, Esbern, why couldn't he have just said all that in Tamrielic, I might have listened!”

Esbern personally doubted this, but decided it was best not to argue.

“Well, he's Dragonborn. The more dragon souls a Dragonborn absorbs, the more dragonlike their mind gets. They don't just gain the ability to use Shouts, other things start creeping in too. In particular, they gain fluency in the dragon tongue over time. It doesn't normally happen so fast though, and they usually know when they're speaking it, which it doesn't sound like Cicero did.”

“So why is he now randomly bursting out into Dovah then?” Delphine asked. It didn't sound like a terribly positive development to her.

“It normally takes time for the mind to absorb it all, slowly, over years, and it becomes assimilated into their normal functioning,” said Esbern. He took a deep breath, realising Delphine wasn't going to like this next bit. “For a healthy, undamaged mind, that is. But Cicero's not undamaged, is he? You know this, you told me he used to have problems dealing with dragon souls.”

“They used to send him insane,” said Delphine, horror mounting inside. “It was like he'd kill the dragon, only to have it start rampaging inside his head. I had to ask Talos for help, and Cicero seemed to be getting better after that, but...”

“But now the cracks are re-appearing,” said Esbern, looking as concerned as she felt.

“He knew something was wrong,” Delphine said, her voice hollow. “Knew as soon I turned up in Windhelm that something wasn't right. He's so damn perceptive, Esbern, notices everything. I managed to distract him with some half-truths, and he seemed to let it go, but he must have known on some level all was not well. Oh Talos, and when I confronted him, his mind must have started to fall apart. Now...” She buried her head in her hands, unable to forget those final howls of agony as he screamed at her not to go. “Divines help me. I've destroyed him.”

“I'm sorry, Delphine,” said Esbern, still squeezing Delphine's hands. “I'm so very sorry. Delphine, in your opinion as Acting Grand Master of the Blades, do you think Paarthurnax represents a threat?”

Delphine hesitated. Dragons weren't trustworthy creatures and they all had the urge to destroy and dominate. Yet Paarthurnax appeared to have held his in check for thousands of years. He had control at least. And Cicero trusted him. It came to something when she began relying on Cicero's character judgement – but Cicero seemed to always be able to sense the truth about people. Some predator's sense of who was weak, who strong, who could be relied on and who needed killing. She'd been able to fool him for a time, true – but she'd done so because she'd told him enough genuinely truthful things to convince him... and she also now realised that he might just have sensed she was Listener before the Night Mother called her.

“No,” she said out loud. “No, he's really not, I don't think. He's done some horrible things, I know, but I'm Listener of the Dark Brotherhood now. I can't judge him. I suppose as long as he doesn't start trying to re-establish the Dragon Cult, we can let him be. But we need the Dragonborn with us. We need Cicero.” She paused. “I need Cicero.”

“Then you should stop wasting time talking to me and go and find him,” said Esbern briskly, patting her hand and getting up. “Go on. Off you go. If you leave for Whiterun now, you might well catch him before he can put your dragon trap idea into action.”

“It was Paarthurnax's,” said Delphine, finally feeling able to smile again. “But thank you. Take care, Esbern. I'll see you soon, hopefully with a jester in tow.”

She left, leaving Esbern to return to bed. He couldn't help but feel a little sad – he'd hoped for some sort of justice for the Blades and others Paarthurnax had killed. Outweighing that though was pleasure at finally seeing Delphine happy again. If it took a murderous lunatic with some very odd fixations to do that, who was he to judge?

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Aranea, open up, it's me!” Delphine called, knocking on the Dunmer's bedroom door. “Aranea!”

There was scuffling from inside, a muffled, oddly masculine, curse, the sound of a magelight being cast and the sound of someone hastily pulling clothes on.

“Is... is that you, Listener?” Aranea called back, sounding somewhat out of it. Oh dear. Someone else woken up, and while Elves functioned far better without sleep than humans did, they still needed their rest.

“Yes. Can I talk to you for a second? I'm really sorry, but it's urgent.”

“Better be,” she heard someone who sounded very like Sapphire muttering. Finally the door opened, Aranea poking her head round it, wearing the top half of her Shrouded Robes, red-gold hair in need of combing. Behind her, Delphine could see someone else in the bed, someone buried under the covers.

“Er, am I interrupting anything?” she asked hesitantly.

“My sleep?” said Aranea tersely. 

“And mine!” another voice called out, and that was definitely Sapphire. Ah.

“I'm sorry,” said Delphine. “I just... listen, Aranea, I need to go somewhere. I should be back in a few days.”

Aranea's eyes swept over Delphine, widening as her sleep-deprived brain processed the fact that Delphine was fully dressed and ready to travel.

“Now? Tonight? Where are you going?? Is it a contract? Delphine, surely it can wait until morning...” Her voice trailed off as she saw the wild look in Delphine's eyes and guessed who alone ever had that effect. “You're going after Cicero, aren't you? Listener, are you alright? Do you want to talk? I mean, you banished him for a reason, you can't just go running after him.”

“Yes. No. I damn well can, I'm the Listener!” Delphine ran a hand through her hair, a sense of urgency inside telling her that if she didn't leave soon, it'd be too late.

“Listener, it's the middle of the night,” said Aranea. “Are you sure this is wise? Why don't you sleep on it first at least. You only got back from High Hrothgar yesterday!”

Delphine shook her head. “There's no time. I need to leave now! He's out there, alone and afraid and unhappy. I can't just leave him. You're in charge until I get back.”

“Listener-” Aranea began, but a voice that definitely wasn't Sapphire's interrupted.

“Aranea, for the love of Sithis, she's clearly made her mind up. Leave her to her madness and come back to bed.”

Aranea's cheeks went a faint shade of crimson as Delphine's eyes widened.

“Have you got both of them in there??” she demanded. Aranea straightened up and attempted to look dignified.

“Don't you have a demented jester to go and find?” said Aranea.

Delphine did. Deciding Aranea was best left to it, she turned and ran.

Aranea closed the door and turned back to where her lovers were waiting, not a shred of guilt between them.

“Thank you for embarrassing me completely in front of the Listener,” she snapped. “Exactly what I needed.”

“Hey, she knocks on the door at Sithis-knows-what o'clock in the morning, she gets us as she finds us,” Sapphire yawned.

“She should just be glad she didn't turn up two hours ago,” Calixto murmured as Aranea slipped back into bed, holding the covers up for her. Within seconds, Aranea had Sapphire snuggling into her breasts and Calixto spooning up against her back.

“You're both terrible,” Aranea murmured. 

“She loves us really,” Sapphire whispered to Calixto over Aranea's shoulder.

“I'm sure she does,” Calixto replied, kissing Aranea's cheek. Aranea didn't deign to reply. She didn't get to where she was in life by rushing these things, after all. Extinguishing the magelight, she drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are. That was a fun chapter to write. I hope I got Cicero's writing style right, but it made me laugh so I suppose it'll do. Next chapter - trapping Odahviing!


	30. The Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero and Eola are off to trap a dragon. Delphine's on a path to intercept, but will she get there in time to stop Cicero doing something... foolish?

The trip down from High Hrothgar had been uneventful – sure, there were the usual roadside encounters, but over the last couple of months, word had started getting around Skyrim's criminal element about a certain one-eyed blonde lady and a certain red-haired gentleman in a jester hat. Two thieves, a skooma dealer and even a bandit highwayman all took one look and suddenly decided they had to be elsewhere.

It hadn't saved the bandit. Cicero had torn into him anyway, daggers flashing and blood everywhere, uttering not a word as he'd carved the Orc apart. Still silent, he'd cleaned his blades and stepped back, looking away while Eola pounced on the corpse.

Once she was done feeding, and parcelling up a few rations for later, she turned back to Cicero. He'd been abnormally quiet all day, occasionally humming or singing quietly, then he'd remember and he'd fall silent again. Then there'd been that time when she couldn't hear him at all, and she'd looked back to see him just standing still on the road, holding himself. She'd gone back to find him and seen him with silent tears rolling down his cheeks, staring at a patch of red mountain flowers.

“She used to love tea made from them!” he'd whispered. “Cicero was going to pick some for her... then he remembered he'll never be bringing her tea again.” She'd taken him in her arms and held him for a few minutes before leading him away. They'd held hands after that, and he'd alternated between quietly sniffling and completely silent. It was starting to worry her – not that she'd stopped worrying since yesterday night.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “That was a brutal killing, even for you.”

“Stops hurting when Cicero kills things,” came the answer. Now that didn't bode well.

“Well, we'll find a few more things for you to murder, I'm sure,” said Eola gently. “Just don't get caught, you hear me?”

Cicero nodded and followed her. They were nearly there, Whiterun looming up ahead in the distance.

“Sister?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“When we speak to the Jarl tomorrow... can you do the talking?”

Eola smiled and squeezed his hand. “Sure thing, honey. I know you get a bit intimidated by that sort of thing.”

“Best sister ever,” Cicero whispered, kissing her on the cheek and letting her lead him into Whiterun.

They took their usual double room at the Bannered Mare, preparing to share a bed as they usually did on the road. Cicero had always claimed he didn't sleep well without someone nearby anyway, and he was likely to be even more needy tonight. Correctly deciding he'd be better off staying in the room where it would be quiet and he could bawl his eyes out in peace, she went downstairs to find dinner for them both.

When she returned with a tray, it was to find Cicero on the bed in his underwear, using a mirror to examine his backside and thighs. He looked devastated.

“They're gone,” he whispered. Eola put the tray down on top of the dresser and perched on the bed next to him.

“What's gone? And how about you get dressed, hmm?”

Cicero put the hand mirror to one side and clung on to her, the tears coming back.

“The welts she left me. They're gone. It was only a few days ago, they should still be there, but they're not, they're not, it was all I had left, Eola please, please tell me it was real!” He was shuddering in her arms, close to panic. Eola guiltily remembered all the healing magic she and Arngeir had pumped into him. Arngeir had frowned briefly at the mottled bruising on the back of Cicero's thighs and the lovebite on his shoulder, looked up at Eola, caught her eye and just shaken his head. 

“Why am I not surprised,” was all he'd said and carried on with his healing work. All that healing magic must have healed them right up, and Cicero had been too out of it to know what was happening.

“I'm so sorry, honey,” she said guiltily. “When we found you at High Hrothgar, you were passed out and nearly half-frozen. We had to use loads of healing magic on you. It healed your marks up. I'm really sorry, sweetie. Of course it was real, Delphine adored you.”

Cicero started crying again, dissolving into anguished howls. “You should have left me there!” he wailed. “Left poor Cicero to the cold and snow! Let it take him home. At least it wouldn't hurt any more...”

Eola felt tears in her own eyes as she held on to him, whispering she was sorry over and over again until he finally calmed down. Dinner was nearly cold by then, but a bit of fire magic soon took care of that. Cicero picked at his, saying he wasn't hungry. Eola made him eat at least half before grudgingly saying he could leave the rest.

They turned in early. Cicero had crawled under the covers anyway, curled into a little ball, so Eola felt she might as well join him. As soon as she was in bed, he rolled over, stroking her shoulder.

“Sister...” he whispered. “Sister, could you... would you... Cicero means nothing improper, he swears, but...”

“Do you want a cuddle, Cicero?” Eola sighed. Cicero nodded, pathetically grateful as she opened her arms and let him snuggle with her. He drifted off to sleep eventually. Eola lay awake, stroking his hair and staring at the ceiling. In all honesty, she wasn't even nervous about the dragon trap, she was actually looking forward to it. Without that to occupy them both, she didn't know what she'd have done with him. All she knew was that she was all he had left, and she couldn't abandon him now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day dawned and they made their way to Dragonsreach. Cicero seemed better that morning, more focused at any rate. He was following in Eola's wake, staring ahead grimly.

“You alright?” Eola asked as they reached the top of the steps. “Ready to do this?”

“Cicero will not get more so. Let's get it over with.”

Balgruuf actually got to his feet as they approached.

“So you're finally here, Dragonborn. I was beginning to think you'd changed your mind.” He swept the room, frowning. “Is Delphine not with you?”

Cicero closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Eola rubbed his back and answered for him,

“There was an incident... with a dragon. She's... not coming.” Beside her, Cicero had placed a hand over his eyes, clearly only just managing not to burst into tears right there.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” said Balgruuf, his voice softening as he took one look at a clearly devastated Cicero and jumped to the exact conclusion Eola had hoped he would. “She was a good woman and an asset to Whiterun. We'll all miss her. I am very sorry for your loss, Dragonborn.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Cicero quietly. “You're very kind.” He dried his eyes and took Eola's hand, squeezing it for reassurance and at least partly to convince himself he wasn't hallucinating anything.

“So, are you ready?” Eola asked. “We want to do this in her memory. We're not letting the truce go to waste.”

“We are,” said Balgruuf. “Follow Irileth to the Great Porch, I shall change into my armour and join you. Then... then we can begin.”

They gathered on the Great Porch of Dragonsreach twenty minutes later, Balgruuf having changed into his steel plated armour, Irileth at the ready in her steel armour and various guards in position with arrows nocked. Eola cast her mage armour, summoned a Flame Atronach and nodded at Cicero.

Cicero took a deep breath and walked out to stand near the edge of the balcony surveying the view. Now or never. He took a deep breath and Shouted.

“OD-AH-VIING!”

The Shout echoed around the stone work and everyone held their breath. Nothing... at first. The minutes ticked by. Then came a sweep of wind, a dark shadow, and one of the guards plucked off the ground as if he weighed nothing. A dragon almost as big as Paarthurnax dealt with its prey, before coming back for a return sweep, landing heavily on the parapet.

“Ziizahro Dovahkiin!” Odahviing roared, sunlight gleaming off a magnificent red and black set of scales. “Here I am!”

Cicero unslung his bow and took aim. “Dovah Odahviing!” he called back. “Here you sta-ay!” For the first time since High Hrothgar, he was smiling, a twisted hunter's grin that Eola had seen many times before. The jester was back, and someone was going to have a very bad day. Eola smiled, a weight sliding off her shoulders as she unleashed twin lightning bolts at the dragon. Now this was more like it.

Odahviing unleashed fire at Cicero, who dived out of the way, the edges of the fire singeing his hair and catching his armour but leaving him unharmed. Battle ensued in earnest, with Odahviing taking off and circling, raining fire down on them as arrows fired back and Eola's magic split the air. Always though he returned, and always his attention focused on Cicero. Somehow Cicero contrived to always just be out of reach of the flames, most of his arrows finding their target as Cicero darted back into Dragonsreach itself. Growing frustrated, Odahviing landed, crawling towards Cicero, who ran back into the Porch.

“Odahviing, Odahviing, mighty hunter on the wing!” Cicero chanted, all the while firing arrow after arrow at the beast. “But when the jester starts to sing, a dragon's doom is what he'll bring!”

As Cicero sang, Eola raced down the other side of the hall to join him, casting frost spells as she ran. Odahviing lunged at her, but she was too quick. Her Atronach was not so lucky and exploded in fire as Odahviing's teeth lashed at it. Odahviing roared in pain, shaking his head as if dazzled by the fire.

“To me, _siigonis_!” Cicero snarled, putting his bow to one side and firing a few Ice Spikes at the dragon. Odahviing roared in fury, another jet of fire hurling their way. Cicero and Eola flung themselves to one side as the furious dragon advanced.

“Now!” Irileth shouted, barely audible over the din. Someone heard her though, as the trap descended. The wooden bar hit Odahviing on the shoulder and before the dragon could recover, the steel clasps had locked around his neck. Odahviing screamed, thrashing in fury, but it was no use. He was caught.

Cicero put his bow away and promptly capered on the spot.

“We did it, we did it, we caught a dragon!” he squealed. Eola ran to him and hugged him tight, just happy to see her brother cheerful again.

“We did!” she laughed. “Now, what are you going to do with him now you've got him?”

“I don't know,” said Cicero, releasing Eola and going to inspect his new captive, curious to see what he'd caught. “Sister, look at his scales, aren't they shiny! And red! Cicero hasn't seen a red dragon before!” He ran his hands over Odahviing's scales, entranced by the sight. “Sister, he's _beautiful!_ ”

“Dovahkiin,” Odahviing growled. “Your admiration is welcome, but seeing as you have gone to a lot of trouble to put me in this humiliating position, may I ask your reason?” 

“Quiet, dragon!” Cicero snapped, swiftly looking up from where he'd been admiring Odahviing. “Cicero is in charge here, not you! Cicero has fought Alduin and won, he is not afraid of you!

“Yes, I heard you were Alduin _Kroniid_ ,” Odahviing said, nodding in recognition. 

“That means Conqueror of Alduin,” Cicero told Eola, grinning smugly.

“What I had not realised is that you were also _Mey Vomindoraan_ ,” Odahviing continued, still in that same calm and slightly condescending tone of voice.

“That means Incomprehensible Idio- now wait a minute!” Cicero cried, furious. He drew Dragonbane, holding the point to Odahviing's throat, doing his best to look intimidating and ignoring Eola's giggling. “Listen here, dragon, you are Cicero's prisoner now and you will answer his questions!”

“I would but you have yet to ask me one, Ziizahro _meyyah_.” If a dragon could smirk, Odahviing would be, Cicero was sure of it. 

“Worst interrogation ever,” he heard Eola mutter. Cicero's eyes narrowed, and he revised his opinion of this dragon. Clearly this one was trouble. 

“Cicero fought Alduin, and Alduin ran away,” Cicero growled. “Cicero wishes to finish the job. Where is he hiding?”

“Well put, Dovahkiin.” Odahviing nodded in approval, his entire demeanour shifting to a more serious one. “Alduin is hiding. Defeated in combat by a mere _joor_ , by Ziizahro _Vomindoraan_. Word is spreading among the Dov, Ziizahro. Your name is known by us now, and the names of the ones you've slain are whispered constantly. When you called me, I came to test your strength for myself, not believing one mortal could wreak such havoc. I was wrong.”

Cicero had lowered Dragonbane and sheathed it, grinning smugly. Lots of people made the mistake of underestimating him. They didn't often live to do it twice.

“So where is he then?” Cicero asked.

“He's retreated to Sovngarde,” said Odahviing. “Doubtless you knew that. But where the portal is, now that is another question.”

“Which you are going to answer,” Cicero purred. “Otherwise things are going to get... ugly. Cicero would hate to ruin the fine scales of such a beautiful Dovah.”

“An easy one, Ziizahro,” Odahviing replied, still a knowing twinkle in his eye that Cicero wasn't sure he liked. This dragon was keeping something from him, he knew it. “The portal is at Alduin's ancient fortress, Skuldafn, high in the mountains you call the Velothi.”

Cicero remembered Delphine telling them both that the burial mounds were being opened starting in south-east Skyrim. Of course, of course that was where Alduin's fortress was.

“And how does Cicero get there?” he asked.

No doubt about it, this dragon had just got that bit smugger.

“Ah, Dovahkiin. You have the soul of a Dovah, it is true. But without the wings of one, you will never get to Skuldafn. It can only be reached from the sky.”

Cicero could cheerfully slit this dragon's throat. Feeling his heart sink he turned to Eola.

“Now what. We're stuck. We know where the portal is but we can't get there.” He felt a lump forming in his throat as he wished Delphine were here... but she was gone forever.

Eola was looking at Odahviing. She didn't seem at all pleased, but she seemed resigned to something.

“I don't think we have a lot of options. You're going to have to ask the red guy here for a lift.”

Odahviing's lips pulled back in the draconic equivalent of a smile.

“Your _briinahzin_ speaks truly. I could fly you there, Ziizahro – but you would have to release me.”

“Rele- I am not releasing you!” Cicero cried. “How do I know you will not fly away? Or eat me? Or, or fly off with me on your back and take me to completely the wrong place??”

“You do not, Dovahkiin,” Odahviing replied. “But fortunately for you, I am a Dovah of my word... and I am tired of Alduin's rule. He has proven himself unworthy. I go my own way now.”

Cicero turned to Eola, taking her to one side for a quiet discussion about all this.

“Sister, I do not like this.” Eola just shrugged.

“Well, nor do I, but we've not got a lot of choice. I don't think Paarthurnax would know where Skuldafn is – sounds like Alduin had it built after Paarthurnax left. We've not got anyone else who can fly us there.”

“And if lying Odahviing betrays poor Cicero?”

“Hit him with Dragonrend, make him land then stab his eyes out,” Eola suggested. Cicero's face lit up at that.

“Ooh! Good thinking, Cicero likes that idea. Very well, Cicero shall take the risk. After all, it doesn't look like we've got any choice.” 

He turned back to Odahviing.

“All right, dragon. Cicero shall release you... if you promise to take him to Skuldafn. Any tricks, and Cicero shall end you. Do we have an agreement?”

“It is wise to recognise when you have only one choice,” Odahviing said approvingly. “We have an agreement, Ziizahro. Release me and I'll take you to Skuldafn. I feel it only fair to warn you that all Alduin's remaining strength will be gathered there.”

A cruel grin spread across Cicero's lips.

“Cicero is already looking forward to it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The guards couldn't entirely believe what they were being asked to do, and Balgruuf asked more than once if Cicero knew what he was doing. However, Cicero refused to back down and Eola's more reasonable support of the little jester helped sway them, and Odahviing was released. Shaking himself down, the huge dragon made his way back to the balcony.

“Much better,” Odahviing growled, enjoying the sunlight on his back. “Now, Dovahkiin, are you ready?”

“Almost,” said Cicero, walking up to stand beside him. The cheerfulness of before had faded, and now he looked like a man going to his own execution.

“Cicero?” Eola asked, worried. “Are you alright?”

Cicero turned to face her, a sad, lopsided smile on his face. Without a word, he turned and hugged her tightly.

“Sweet sister,” he sighed. “Dear sister. Eola fear-ola. Cicero thanks you. For the last two days. For looking after him. For everything. He's glad to have had you for his friend.”

“You're welcome,” Eola began to say, then the penny dropped. Glad to have _had_ her for a friend? As if he was... saying goodbye?

“Wait, what are you saying? We're doing this together, right?” She broke away and looked up at him. He was still wearing that same sad smile, and there were tears glittering in his eyes.

“Not this time,” he said softly. “Cicero goes alone, sister. I'm sorry, Eola. I will miss you.”

“What are you talking about?” she whispered, feeling the blood drain from her face. “You can't just up and leave like this! It's dangerous! You'll need help!”

“Yes, it's dangerous, which is why you're not coming,” said Cicero firmly. Eola couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“That's never stopped us doing anything before!” she cried. “Wasn't Cidhna Mine dangerous? The Thalmor Embassy? Dragon-hunting with Delphine? It's what we do, Cicero! Stupidly insane dangerous stuff! What if something happens to you out there? What if you never come home?”

Cicero had gone very still at this, and as Eola looked into his eyes, she realised then what he was intending.

“No,” she whispered, her eyes starting to well up. “No, Cicero you can't, you can't do this, please, you're my brother, my friend, I love you, you can't...!” She stopped, unable to say any more because she was this close to bursting into tears, this close.

“Cicero isn't coming back,” he whispered, and then she really was sobbing, clinging on to him, fists clenched in his armour as she howled at him not to do this, please, please, she needed him here, she'd miss him, please...

Cicero held her tight, planting kisses on the top of her head, her cheek, her forehead, and there were tears cascading from his own eyes too.

“Sister, sister, don't cry, please, Cicero loves you too, but you don't need him, you really don't, you're the most self-sufficient person I know, and certainly one of the strongest, oh sister.”

She did look up then, and he looked utterly distraught, but she also knew his mind was made up.

“Why?” she asked, but she knew why. Nothing to come back for any more.

“Cicero will save the world,” he whispered. “Because it is pretty and beautiful and so his dear sister Eola and his darling Listener Delphine and everyone else he's ever loved can live in it. But not with Cicero, not any more. Cicero will save this world, but there's no place in it for him. He is sorry, sister. Please don't cry, you are young and lovely, you have your whole life ahead of you, mourn Cicero then live it.”

“How am I meant to do that?” Eola sobbed. “I never had a brother before! Now he's being taken away from me!”

“You will find a way,” said Cicero softly, stroking her cheek. “Eola fear-ola. You always do.”

“So do you,” said Eola. “And you'll find a way back to me, brother.” Reaching down, she unbuckled Dawnbreaker's scabbard and handed the blade over. “Here. If you won't take me, take my sword. Bound to be Draugr out there. You'll need it.”

“Sister, I can't take this, you earned this the hard way!” Cicero gasped. Eola shoved it at him fiercely.

“I still have an ebony war axe, my magic and the Skull of Corruption. I will manage. You're going to need all the help you can get. Plus it means you have a reason to come back. You'll need to return it, right?” She closed his hands around it and let go, stepping back with a too-smug grin on her face. Cicero closed his eyes, uttering a hollow laugh, and fastened it around his waist.

“Hussy,” he said gently. “You always were too smart for your own good.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Eola, wiping her tears away. Cicero was doing likewise.

“Do one thing for me,” said Cicero.

“What?” she asked.

“Find the Listener,” said Cicero, his voice rising in pitch again. “Find her. Tell her what happened, and where I'm going. Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I love her. That I'll never forget her as long as I draw breath. Tell her...” and here he faltered, looking like he was about to cry again, “tell her to mourn me and move on. Name another Keeper in the fullness of time. She's not to spend the rest of her life unhappy on poor Cicero's account. Tell her goodbye. Then... then go wherever you want and live your own life. Eola, please. Do this for me.”

Eola had her own ideas about what exactly she was going to tell Delphine when she next saw her, but she did agree that Delphine at least deserved to know. She nodded in agreement, not trusting herself to speak. Cicero hugged her one last time and let her go, walking to where Odahviing was waiting and settling himself on the dragon's neck, holding on to his horns. He gave Eola one last look, one last smile even though he looked like his heart was breaking and then Odahviing took off in a flurry of dust. Eola's eyes welled up and she sank to her knees, sobbing her heart out as she watched the dragon's silhouette get smaller and smaller until at last it was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Delphine staggered up the steps to Dragonsreach. She wasn't as young as she'd used to be and she'd had virtually no sleep – those few hours she'd snatched on the carriage didn't count. She was exhausted but she didn't care. Cicero was here, she knew it, she'd stopped at the Bannered Mare and been told the welcome news that yes, the red-haired jester and his blonde friend had stayed here overnight and gone up to see the Jarl only an hour ago. 

She still had no idea what to say to him. She really wasn't used to this unplanned spontaneity thing. She should have a speech or something. But everything she'd rehearsed on the road had sounded wrong. Everything but one set of words that was pounding through her head and wouldn't let her go: _I'm sorry, I love you, come home._

A shadow streaked across the sky to the east, and Delphine saw one of the biggest dragons she'd ever laid eyes on flying away. Was that... was that Odahviing? Cicero had released him?? Or... hadn't it worked? But no, the palace and the city weren't on fire, so presumably things hadn't gone too badly. So why... had she been wrong about Cicero's loyalties?

She had to find out more. Racing across the bridge, she ran inside the palace.

Minutes later, she was bursting out onto the Great Porch, ignoring Balgruuf's stunned cry of “You're alive!?” and scanning the place for Cicero or Eola. No sign of him – but Eola was kneeling on the floor by herself, head in her hands. 

Delphine sprinted across the hallway, desperate for answers, desperate enough that she was willing to face Eola's wrath.

Eola glanced up at her approach, blinked and got to her feet, staring at her incredulously.

“Delphine? What are you doing here?” she whispered, stunned. Delphine took one look at the girl's tear-stained, blotchy face and felt her blood chill.

“Cicero,” Delphine gasped, still catching her breath. “Where is he?”

“Gone,” said Eola, and the finality in that one word made Delphine's breath catch in her throat. “He's gone, Delphine. You just missed him. He just flew off on the back of a dragon to go find Alduin and kill him, and it's probably the last you or I or anyone else will ever see of him, because he says he's not coming back, because he's got nothing worth coming back for. Because _you broke his heart!_ ” Eola flung herself on to Delphine, enraged, fists clenching in Delphine's armour, and Delphine was too shocked to do anything in response.

“No,” Delphine whispered. “He can't be... he said he'd always come back, always come back for... me.” But not if she wasn't going to be there to welcome him home. The stark and simple truth that Cicero had flown off on a likely suicide mission hit her like a physical blow, and she crumpled. She'd lost him. Forever.

Her vision blurred, and she was dimly aware of Eola letting her go, saying “Delphine? Del? Oh honey, don't... don't cry, please, don't...” Arms went round her and she was crying unashamedly on Eola's shoulder, heedless of anything now except that her darling jester boy was gone, lost to her and she had no one to blame but herself.

“You came to find him, didn't you?” Eola said gently, her anger seeming to have died away. Delphine nodded, not feeling quite up to speaking just yet.

“You missed him,” Eola continued, hands stroking Delphine's hair. “You'd changed your mind. Oh _honey._ ”

“I read his journal,” Delphine whispered. “It was insane and funny and it made me laugh, and then it'd get serious and it'd make me cry. But it proved he still loved me and wasn't going to enslave the world with Paarthurnax once Alduin died...”

“You seriously thought he was going to do that??” Eola cried. “Del, sweetie, the only reason he'd go out and take over the world would be as a gift for you.”

“I know that now!” Delphine cried. “I – oh Sithis, I've ruined everything! And now he's gone, he's gone off to get himself killed thinking I don't love him any more, and it's not true, it's not, it's...” She began to cry again, clinging on to Eola for all she was worth.

“Sweetie,” she heard Eola whisper, rubbing her back. “Oh sweetie. Wait... it's not even midday... have you been travelling all night??”

Delphine nodded tearfully. 

“Namira's sake – Del, have you had any sleep??”

“Slept for a bit on the carriage?” said Delphine, trying to remember the last proper full night's sleep she'd had.

“Oh for the love of – come on,” Eola sighed, taking her arm. “I've still got use of a room at the Mare. You're coming with me and you're going to sleep. Or at least cry your eyes out in private. And then you and I are going back to Karthspire. Come on.”

Still sniffing, Delphine let Eola take her arm and lead her out.

“You – you're coming back to Karthspire?” Delphine asked, something other than despair and agony finally flickering inside. “What, permanently?”

“If you'll have me,” said Eola, sounding a little uncertain for the first time. “And, er, I'm sorry I called you a heartless bitch. You're really not, are you?”

“No, but don't tell anyone,” Delphine said, finally feeling able to smile, if only a little. “Can't have everyone knowing.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” Eola promised, putting an arm around her. “Come on. Let's get you out of here.”

Delphine let herself be led away. She'd lost her jester boy, and it was going to be some time before she got over this one, if she ever really did. Still, she'd got Eola back. It was something. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eola watched as Delphine slept. It hadn't been easy, to be sure, and Delphine had gone off into another crying fit when she'd seen one of Cicero's hairs on the pillow and realised he'd been here only a few hours ago. Eola had had to spend the next half hour comforting her. She'd finally persuaded Delphine to lie down and rest, and Delphine had been so worn out by then she'd fallen asleep straight away. 

She'd slept ever since, occasionally tossing and turning and crying out for Cicero, but apart from that peacefully enough. Eola envied her. She'd paid for another night, having no idea how long Delphine was going to need to sleep for, and spent the entire time just watching over her, spooning up behind the sleeping Listener and placing a protective arm around her. 

She should hate her. She really should. She was still grieving Cicero herself, and it was predominantly Delphine's fault when all was said and done. But Eola wasn't the type to hold grudges – in her world, people who offended her were either killed, or the matter wasn't worth bothering with, or she liked them too much to stay angry. Delphine was definitely the latter. Eola liked her too much. Far too much. She'd always liked her, and that she was remarkably easy on the eye didn't hurt. Then Cidhna Mine had happened, the thing that had once been her mother had taken her prisoner, and then they'd freed their Listener and Delphine had gone and smiled at her. Then she'd decapitated Mireen, staked a claim as Eola's Matriarch and... damn. She'd fallen hook, line and sinker for her brother's ladyfriend. The Champion of Namira's not-quite-fiancee.

Damn. No, really. Damn. Now they'd split up under horrible and painful circumstances, and even though Eola wanted to take Cicero's side and turn her back on Delphine, she couldn't. She cared too damn much.

She had no idea where anyone went from here. Cicero gone and despite telling her to tell Delphine to mourn and move on, she was very sure he had not meant 'seduce my Listener the second I'm gone'. She was even more certain that Delphine was shattered in mind and soul by the whole experience and would be in no position to pursue anything with anyone for some time. Maybe never.

But what she could do was what Cicero would have wanted, and take care of his Listener. Maybe one day, maybe she'd be ready to love again. And if Eola played her cards right, and she'd not been completely mistaken about the look she occasionally saw in Delphine's eyes, maybe it might just be her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Odahviing landed on an open platform, just off what looked like the main Skuldafn complex. Cicero slid off the dragon's neck, staggering around as he got his bearings back. That had been probably one of the most terrifying experiences of his life, clinging to Odahviing's spines and concentrating on not looking down as the wind whipped past him at speed. He'd had to take his hat off or risk losing it.

Said hat was soon back in place on his head. Odahviing was watching him with amusement.

“Well, Ziizahro? Has your envy of the Dov not reached new heights?”

“No,” Cicero gasped. “No, it hasn't. Cicero is never doing that again!”

“Oh really?” Odahviing asked. “And how were you planning to return home?”

Cicero closed his eyes, shivering as he remembered Delphine shouting at him to not come near her.

“Cicero has no home,” he said quietly. “Not any more.”

Odahviing did not reply for a couple of seconds, then he nudged Cicero gently in what Cicero was beginning to realise was the nearest a dragon could get to showing affection to a mortal physically. 

“Dovahkiin,” he growled. “Such despondency is unbefitting one of the Dov. All Dov have a strunmah. If you have been driven from your old one, find another and bide your time until you can reclaim it.”

Easier said than done – home was where his Listener was, at her feet or sitting at her side, being held in her arms or alternately between her thighs. Never again. He'd found paradise only to lose it.

“There is no other,” he snapped. Odahviing just yawned.

“Ziizahro. I must leave you here. You must go alone now. But I will be watching and waiting for your return... or Alduin's. For what it is worth... I would prefer it be you. You amuse me.”

Cicero nodded, drawing Dragonbane. He could already see a few other dragons perched on the temple roof, and they were starting to look this way. Time to get started.

“Thank you, Odahviing,” said Cicero. “You have been very helpful to poor Cicero. He shall remember you fondly.” Without waiting for a response, he summoned Lucien, drew Dawnbreaker into his free hand and raced over the bridge. Death awaited, and the first to meet it would be some very unlucky Draugr.

Odahviing took to the air, wheeling away as the Dovahkiin and his ghostly friend raced into action. He could not guess who would triumph, but he could already tell one thing – this joor would not die easily. Alduin was in for a rough fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Dovah:  
> Mey Vomindoraan - literally incomprehensible fool, closer in meaning to gibbering idiot.  
> Ziizahro meyyah - foolish Cicero  
> Siigonis - lizard  
> Briinahzin - female companion, equivalent in meaning to Shield-Sister.


	31. To Kill An Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero's having a rough time of it in Skuldafn - the Draugr aren't a problem, it's the hallucinations that are getting to him. Meanwhile back in Skyrim, Delphine's still the Listener and she has a job to do...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An anon reviewer left me some really nice reviews a while back and happened to mention they'd love some more Babette. So just for you, I've brought her in to this chapter, assuming you're still reading. Enjoy!

Silence fell as Delphine and Eola walked back into Sky Haven Temple. Calixto and Aventus both looked up from where Calixto was teaching the boy some sort of ward spell, Aranea slid off Sapphire's lap and into her own chair, and even Esbern looked up from where he was reading some old scroll. Delphine sincerely hoped there were no more unpleasant surprises located in it.

“Listener. You're back! And Eola too, I see.” Aranea was getting to her feet, nodding in approval. She glanced over Delphine's shoulder. “But no Cicero?”

“No Cicero,” said Delphine, shoving the heartbreak away. She'd had all the previous day and night, and the entire journey back to the Reach this morning to grieve and wallow. Now was the time to get back to business. Life hadn't stopped because the Dragonborn had flown off into the ether after all.

“He's not...” Calixto began.

“Did he not want to...?” Sapphire said, looking startled.

Delphine took her usual seat, Eola falling into the seat at her right hand side that would normally have been Cicero's.

“He's the Dragonborn,” said Delphine firmly. “And he's gone to fight Alduin. The dragon trap plan actually worked, Cicero found out where the portal is, so he's decided to head off on his own to take care of things. Too dangerous for the rest of us apparently.”

There was a general consensus among the adults that Cicero was quite welcome to take on the World-Eater on his own. Aventus wasn't so sure.

“Is he gonna be alright on his own?” he asked softly. “Shouldn't you or Eola have gone with him? I mean, he gets kinda lonely when there's no one around. Talks to himself all the time because no one else is there.”

“He was pretty determined, kiddo,” said Eola, a shadow passing over her eyes. “But I lent him my sword, you know, the golden fiery one that makes Draugr explode. And he's got his buddy Lucien to keep him company. He'll be OK.”

Delphine certainly hoped so, for all their sakes.

“He will, I'm sure. In any case, there's nothing we can do now except hope. He'll either succeed or he won't, and if he succeeds, I am sure we'll hear of him soon enough. If he comes here and either does what I asked or at least makes amends, you'll have your brother back soon enough. In the mean time, we don't have a Dragonborn – but we do have a job to do. Esbern, you'd best take Aventus out. This one's sensitive.” She leaned forward, beckoning her assassins in closer as Esbern escorted Aventus away. “All this time, I've been sending you on jobs, some big, some small, risking your lives and your freedom, not always telling you why you're doing what you're doing. Well, not this time. This next job I'm handling personally.”

There was a second of stunned silence then outrage erupted.

“Wait, what, are we not up to it now?” That was Sapphire. 

“Listener, this sounds incredibly dangerous, are you sure...?” Calixto that time.

“Delphine, I hope you're not about to risk your life unnecessarily in some noble and heroic gesture just because Cicero's gone.” And that was Aranea, being far too perceptive, as always.

Eola's hand had found her wrist.

“Delphine,” and Eola was the only one of them whose eyes Delphine felt like meeting. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Delphine, raising her voice. “But I have no intention of dying. I have a plan, my brother and sisters. A plan you've all helped contribute to in one way or another. From killing Vici to murdering Maro to gutting the Gourmet.”

They'd all gone quiet. She knew they'd been gossiping between themselves, knew they'd been comparing notes and none of them were exactly stupid. Theories and ideas about these more mysterious jobs had abounded, but Delphine didn't know if any of them were close yet.

“Who is it, Delphine?” Aranea asked, face almost invisible in her Shrouded Robes. “Who are you going to kill?”

“Not guessed yet?” said Delphine, raising an eyebrow. “You killed his cousin. And you, Eola, you got me a Writ of Passage to see him.”

“You are not serious,” Sapphire cried. Calixto had taken a hefty swig of mead and Eola had gone pale.

“Oh I'm perfectly serious,” said Delphine, already plotting the execution of this, well, execution. “Assassins of mine, we're going to kill an emperor.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The reaction to that announcement had set the Sanctuary abuzz with excitement and a great deal of focused preparation. Daggers were being sharpened, armour was being repaired and shined, poisons brewed, magic practiced, weapons charged and Eola had slipped off into Markarth with that new staff of hers to carry out some specialised charging. 

Eola. Now there was a puzzle. She'd gone from seemingly furious at Delphine over the whole Cicero banishment to suddenly being solicitous and attentive, never far away, always asking if she needed anything, offering backrubs and footrubs, bringing her food and being at pains to assure Delphine the meat was not from Eola's personal collection. Delphine should be suspicious and indeed she was a little – but Eola's intents seemed genuine and Talos knew she needed someone. Eola had even had a long private chat with Aventus, and afterwards the boy had presented her with a bunch of flowers he'd collected himself, apologised for being rude and offered to help look after her now Cicero had gone.

“I mean it, Listener, anything he used to do for you, you just let me know and I'll help you with it!” he'd promised. There'd been one brief moment where Delphine's mind had presented her with some horrific mental images, and mercifully Aventus had had similar thoughts as he'd immediately added, “Apart from the kissing and stuff. I... don't think he'd be very pleased about that.”

Delphine had assured him she was fine, but thanked him and told him if she needed anything doing she'd ask. In fact, she'd already started training him in the basics of weapons and armour maintenance. It was a useful life skill for anyone to have, and now that Cicero was no longer jealously guarding his place as personal manservant to the Listener, she might as well make use of the teaching opportunity. 

During the day at least, Delphine kept herself busy enough. Night time was a different story. Thank Sithis for Eola really. She'd taken to dropping by every evening to talk and help Delphine get ready for bed – at least, that was her excuse. Delphine guessed that Eola clearly wanted someone to commiserate with too. So she'd not turned her away, allowing herself to be fussed over and tucked up in bed, and she'd let Eola stretch out next to her on top of the covers. 

“You don't have to stay, you know,” said Delphine sleepily. “You can go to bed, I'll be fine.”

“Oh yeah, back to my cold and lonely bed, all by myself,” said Eola, rolling her eyes. “So tempting.”

Delphine smiled, closing her eyes. In truth, she was glad of the company. It made it easier to ignore the jester-shaped hole inside, the hollow empty feeling always gnawing away at her and never really disappearing. She wanted it to stop and at the same time never wanted it to stop as that would mean getting used to Cicero never coming home. She was very sure she'd never get used to that idea.

Eola made it feel bearable. She didn't even need to say anything to her, Eola just seemed to know and understand, get it in a way no one else really did. So she curled up under the covers and didn't complain when Eola put an arm around her and stroked her back, a silently reassuring presence as Delphine drifted off to sleep.

She'd woken the next morning to find her still there, lying fully clothed on top of the covers.

“You stayed here all night?” Delphine asked, bleary-eyed. 

“Yeah,” said Eola sleepily. “Your bed's comfy. Was too tired to go back to mine.”

“Weren't you cold?” Delphine could see goose-bumps on Eola's skin and while the Reach wasn't the coldest part of Skyrim, it wasn't terribly warm at night. 

“A little,” Eola admitted. “But it'd be a bit weird to just climb into bed with you.”

“Whereas lying beside me watching me sleep isn't weird at all,”said Delphine. Eola had the decency to blush.

“Do you want me to go?” she asked softly. Delphine felt the tears welling up again.

“No,” said Delphine. “No, you can stay. You're the only one who really gets it, you know? Sure, Aranea's very understanding and Esbern cares and Aventus is a real sweetheart, but I don't have to explain anything to you. You know.”

Eola smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. Despite, or perhaps because of the constant bickering, Cicero and Eola had adored each other – that had been obvious. Delphine had almost thought Eola had been in love with him at one point... but she was no longer sure that was the case. They were too close without awkwardness for there to have been anything like that going on. Regardless, Cicero had clearly told Eola to take care of his Listener, and she was clearly intending to do just that. Well, Delphine could do with looking after, she had to admit.

“Just next time you find yourself drifting off to sleep next me, do yourself a favour and get under the covers. These Skyrim nights are cold.”

Eola laughed at that.

“Will do, Listener. Are you getting up yet, or did you want to sleep in?”

“Give me a few more hours,” said Delphine, still tired. She drifted off back to sleep and the last thing she was aware of was Eola sliding into bed next to her and taking her into her arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Later that afternoon, the Sanctuary was interrupted by a visitor. A couple of young Forsworn warriors were ringing the bell that had been set up by the Cyrodiil gate, both looking terrified.

Eola went out to deal with them. She vaguely recognised them from when she'd been a girl here, but these two had been children then and beneath her notice. 

“Well?” she asked. “Do you have a reason for visiting the home of the Night Mother?”

“Please, Princess,” one of them, a tall, thin boy of sixteen or so stammered. “We've got a message from your father, King Madanach. Er, he says to tell you there's a visitor. For M-Matriarch Delphine.”

That had Eola's attention. “What sort of visitor?” Someone from outside the Brotherhood knowing Delphine was based here? Or... no, surely not. Delphine had told someone from Falkreath how to find them?

“A – a little girl,” said the other one, a girl of about a year or so older than her companion. “She had a letter from the Matriarch and was waiting at the Old Hroldan Inn when we came to check your dead drop for you. She said the Matriarch had personally invited her to visit. I swear though, she was like no child we'd ever seen. So – so we blindfolded her and brought her here, like Matriarch Delphine said we were to do with visitors, and she's with the King now. He said to come get you.”

Babette. Had to be. So why had Delphine invited her to come? Eola didn't know, but there was only one way to find out. Telling the messengers to take her to this visitor, she cast mage armour just in case and followed them out. 

Sure enough, Babette was sitting in a chair, apparently unbothered by all the cloak and dagger, cheerfully having a conversation with Madanach on the proper art of poison brewing.

“The key is to remember to steep the Nirnroot overnight first,” she was telling him. “When the water's glowing and the leaves aren't, that's when you can strain the leaves out and use the water as a base for the nightshade to be mixed into.”

“Impressive,” Madanach replied. “Just so happens there's nightshade growing all over this temple and campsite now. Odd how it's just started sprouting when it never grew here before. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you now, girl?”

Babette just laughed. “Oh, that? Well, if the Night Mother and Listener really are here, it's only to be expected. Nightshade always grows where the Brotherhood walks.”

Eola made her entrance on that cue. “Hope that's not widely known. Del will have a fit if she finds out anywhere we set up camp will have nightshade growing around it, screaming our presence to the world.” She greeted Madanach with a kiss, and turned to Babette.

“Hello, Babette. What brings you here? A message from Astrid? Or did Delphine send for you?”

Babette reached into her pocket and handed over a letter. Short, but Delphine didn't believe in putting much in writing.

“ _Babette,_ ” it read. “ _Bring this and the requested item to the Old Hroldan inn in the Reach. Take the south road into the Reach, and it's just off the road near the roadside shrine to Dibella. Once every three days, some natives of the Reach will come to the inn and ask the innkeeper if she's received any messages for their Mother. The answer's usually no, but regardless, make yourself known to them when they come and tell them you'd like to come home to Mother and perform your filial duty. They'll bring you to me. You'll be blindfolded once away from the inn – don't panic, I've requested they do this – you can't give away to anyone what you don't know. Show them this letter if any trouble, but do not hesitate to destroy it if it looks like you're about to fall into hostile hands._

_Good luck and may our Mother and Father watch over you,_

_D._ ”

“So she did invite you,” said Eola thoughtfully. “Got to hand it to her, she's cunning. Paranoid, but cunning.”

“She's no worse than Astrid,” said Babette calmly. “I don't mind the cloak and dagger. It's all rather exciting, isn't it?”

“It is indeed,” said Eola, taking her by the hand. “Come on, come with me. I suspect she'll prefer it if you're still blindfolded until you're actually in the Sanctuary.”

Babette followed along quite willingly, barely stumbling at all, and confirming Eola's suspicion that the girl was trained to fight blind. She really needed to get Cicero to tea- oh. 

_Pull yourself together, Eola._ A distracted assassin was a dead assassin. And yet grief was the sneakiest attacker of all...

Finally they'd made it to the Cyrodiil gate, Eola having disabled the traps before heading down to the Sanctuary to make the return easier. Babette glanced up as they entered the tunnel, keen vampiric ears detecting the changes in the air, but she said nothing, letting Eola lead the way.

Eola steered her out into the main hall and motioned to Sapphire to go to the control room to lock the traps down behind them and get the gate resealed. With that seen to, she finally felt able to take Babette's blindfold off.

Babette brushed her hair back into place and looked around. Eola was gratified to see her amber eyes widen as she stared around.

“This is some Sanctuary! Is that...?”

“Alduin's Wall,” Eola confirmed. “Famous lost piece of Akaviri art. Well, famous if you're a dragonlore expert, that is.”

“I read about it once, when I lived back in Cyrodiil,” said Babette, approaching it in awe. “I had no idea it was real!”

“Oh, it's real,” the old man sitting next to it confirmed. “The location's been lost for the last two hundred years, and only the Blades knew about it even back then. I... don't believe we've met? Are you a dragonlore enthusiast then?”

“Not exactly,” said Babette, still unable to tear her eyes away from the mural. “But I've always liked architecture and sculpture. Things that stand the test of time when everything around them dies.”

The old man glanced at her, looking her up and down. “Yes, I can see why a vampire might be drawn to that. Don't look at me like that, I may be old but I know a vampire when I see one. You're no more a child than I am.”

Babette pouted. No point doing impressions of a child in distress around this one. This must be the old Nord from Astrid's Murder Board. Babette wondered why Delphine hadn't brought him with her on the Falkreath raid. The magelight above his desk screamed spellcaster, if the books and scrolls hadn't given it away. Older than Festus, and from his scent, probably a match for him in power. 

“Getting acquainted already, are we?” Delphine had crept up behind Babette before she'd even realised anyone was there. She was wearing her leather armour rather than her Blades outfit and she'd lost none of her ability to use it well. “Hello Babette. Welcome to Sky Haven Temple, Sanctuary of the Night Mother.”

Babette noted the old man flinch for the briefest of seconds. Interesting. He didn't like this place being a Brotherhood Sanctuary. So not an assassin? So why was he here? Babette had no idea, but she made a mental note to find out.

“Hello Listener,” said Babette, smiling. “I got what you were after. Astrid had to pull in a few favours and it cost a pretty penny, but we got hold of some.” She took a small packet from her pocket and handed it over. Delphine unwrapped it and looked it over, sniffing it tentatively and sealing it up again.

“Perfect,” she smiled, pocketing the herb. “Exactly what I needed.”

“Do I even want to know what you had to ask Astrid of all people to procure for you?” the old man asked, pained look on his face.

“No,” said Delphine. “Babette, this is Esbern, our resident scholar and dragonlore specialist. With a Dragonborn among us, we thought it best to get someone in who actually knew something about the subject. Esbern, Babette here is from Astrid's Sanctuary. She's an alchemy master.”

“Good to meet you, Esbern,” said Babette. She glanced over the books and noted not one was Dark Brotherhood related. “You're not an assassin yourself, then? But... weren't you on the Cidhna Mine job?”

“Oh no, I was just along for the ride,” said Esbern, choosing his words very carefully. “Cicero and Eola were the ones actually carrying out the contract.”

“The price for which was one new base of operations and a standing army,” said Delphine, leading Babette to the central table. “Are you hungry? Did you feed recently? I think Eola has some meat in fresh...”

“Thank you, but no, I ate on the road,” said Babette, fiendish little smile on her face as she contemplated the unlucky courier she'd fed from. “So tell me, Listener. Why did you waive your cut of all those contracts in exchange for procuring this for you? I presume it's for a contract, but it must be a pretty important one for you to want Jarrin Root.”

“It is,” said Delphine. She glanced up at the others, Eola, Aranea and the returning Sapphire all gathering round. “I could tell you... but that means you wouldn't be able to go back to Falkreath until the job was done. I don't want anyone who knows about it wandering around Skyrim on their own.”

“I take it back,” Babette said to Eola. “She's way more paranoid than Astrid.”

“If you knew about this one, you'd be paranoid,” was the response. Very intriguing.

“So how long would I have to stay in quarantine for then?” Babette asked. Worth wondering if there was a place on the job for an innocent-looking child vampire...

“Not long,” said Delphine. “I was just waiting for the root. Now we have that, we can be on the road tomorrow. So it wouldn't be long. You could even come with us, take the story back to Astrid. I'm sure she'd like that.”

“You're all going?” Babette asked. “Wow. Don't think you've all been out on the same job since you came to challenge us. What's the big deal? And yes, I want in, whatever it is. You lot are up to something. When you lot are up to something, things get interesting. So tell me. Who are you going to kill?”

Delphine told her. Babette was rather glad she no longer needed to eat and drink, as she was sure she'd have choked on whatever she'd been consuming. As it is, she'd never in a million years seen that one coming.

“Vici,” she managed to say. “You killed Vici to force him to come to Skyrim. And... and Gaius Maro, he was never a traitor at all, you killed him and planted evidence. Dear Sithis. You are all insane. Brilliant. But insane. And now you're going to assault Castle Dour? No, too obvious. You lot don't do obvious. You're going to poison him. With the Jarrin Root. But how are you going to sneak into the kitchens?”

“Oh Babette,” Delphine smiled, unholy gleam in her eyes. “They're going to let me walk right in there and plant it before their eyes, and then they're going to feed it to the Emperor themselves.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Traitor.”

Cicero ignored him. He had a job to do, couldn't Lucien shut up?

“Outcast.”

“Leave me alone,” Cicero muttered, fingering his dagger hilt.

“Breaker of the Tenets,” Lucien intoned, the sound of his voice cutting Cicero all the more viciously because it had once caressed him in the tender and ruthless way that always made Cicero go weak.

“Shut up!” Cicero snapped, drawing his blade. “If one has fallen, I can break another!”

“You would not stand a chance against me,” Lucien growled. Cicero's control broke, and he was on the spectre then, slashing and stabbing and shrieking and crying, and Lucien wasn't fighting back with anything like his usual finesse. Cicero kept on stabbing and finally Lucien lay still, ghostly form fading... into a Draugr?

Cicero put his knife away, rubbing his eyes, tired and exhausted. He'd been walking for Sithis knew how long, and Lucien wasn't here, he'd died in the courtyard when that second dragon crashed to the ground, and Cicero's mind was playing tricks, foolish Cicero!

He kept walking, ascending a spiral staircase into another room. A coffin fell open, and this time it was Aranea gliding out, Calixto and Sapphire emerging to join her from where they'd been lurking.

“Brother no more,” she intoned. “The Listener has ordered you... purified.”

“No!” Cicero screamed. “You lie! Delphine loves me, she never would, my sweetling never would...” But she'd already ripped his heart out once. Why not send his erstwhile siblings to finish the job?

Well, if they were no longer his siblings...

“FUS RO DAH!” The oil lamp above them crashed to the floor, and the oil spill below ignited. Cicero shrank back, waiting as the flames died down, and once they had, he carefully tiptoed back in to the small side-chamber they'd been in. Three dead Draugr lay on the floor, charred to a crisp.

“Night Mother,” Cicero whispered. “Night Mother, I'm sorry. Please make it stop, please!”

No response. There was never a response. Just silence and darkness and loneliness for ever and ever and always, and none of it was real, it had never been real, only the silence was real, just the darkness and the Void, waiting to swallow him from beneath.

Nothing Cicero could do about it except ready his blades and move on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Delphine handed the Writ of Passage to Commander Maro, smiling brightly and hoping it didn't look too fake. She'd left her katana with Eola, not wanting anyone to see it and think of the Blades. Best if she was just another Breton adventurer in sturdy leather armour with a simple dagger at her side.

Maro looked at the Writ and his eyes widened. “You're the Gourmet? Goodness, ma'am, I do beg your pardon, you understand we hadn't the faintest idea who to expect...”

“That's fine, Commander,” Delphine said reassuringly. “Everyone always expects me to be taller.”

“Indeed. Well, in you come, the kitchen is straight through there. Report to Gianna when you get there, she'll show you around and help you get started.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Delphine. She looked at him and felt a twist of sympathy for the man. She'd already ruined his life and things were only going to get worse.

“Er, Commander, I heard about your son and just wanted to offer my condolences. Never easy to lose a loved one. I'm sure it's not true what they say, about a plot...”

“Of course it's not!” Maro snapped, professional politeness fading for the briefest of instants before he got himself under control. “Er, thank you. Most kind. But I don't really want to talk about it, so if you don't mind...?”

“Of course,” Delphine said softly. “I'll be heading on in.”

She wasn't sure if that had made things worse or better. Professionally, of course it was better, a distracted Maro was likely to be less on his guard. Personally, she felt horrible. But enough of that. She had an Emperor to kill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero rounded a corner, sneaking quietly forward along this last corridor, expertly avoiding the traps. A Hall of Stories clearly, and at the end, the usual dragon claw lock. Cicero cursed his luck – his one dragon claw was back at the Sanctuary and he had no idea what would open this one. Then that particular difficulty faded into nothing as Delphine stepped out of the shadows in her Blades armour, a dragon claw in her hand.

“Looking for this, Dragonborn?” she asked, cruel, mocking smile on her face. He'd seen it on her before, as she'd pinned him down and used and abused him for pleasure and it had always thrilled him, knowing it was him who made her feel that way, him who gave her such joy, that she was strong enough and powerful enough to render him weak and terrified and helpless. Such a delight to know he had that effect on someone.

It wasn't thrilling him now. Always before he'd known she loved him and cherished him, that he was her beloved Dragonborn, her long-awaited heir of the Dragon blood and that it was only for his own good she needed to do such cruel things to him, to make sure his dragon nature didn't get out of control and that he knew his place, and of course he did, humble Cicero lived to serve, he always had.

He knew none of that now. He knew he'd got free somehow, let his inner Dovah take control and defy her and how could she love him now? He knew what she did to dragons. 

“Delphine,” he whispered. “I'm sorry.”

“You're not,” she said sharply. “Or Paarthurnax would be _dead_.”

She knew, she knew, knew Cicero couldn't do it, that he'd had Paarthurnax there, right there, willingly yielding and his knife poised to strike, and he'd not been able to. Cicero, for the first time in his life, hadn't been able to strike. He was useless, failed, broken, a damaged Dragonborn, a Dragonborn more Dov than human, an assassin who couldn't kill, and he knew he was finished, he knew.

She'd put the claw away and was advancing now, ebony sword in her hands.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Cicero sobbed. “Don't kill me, please! Not like this! I love you, sweetling, please!”

“Love has no place in the Brotherhood,” Delphine hissed. “You've failed me, Dragonborn. Failed me, failed Mother. Failure must be punished.”

“Listener!!” Cicero howled. “Please, have mercy! Cicero is sorry! Don't hurt me, please, Sanctuary!!!”

Delphine didn't stop her advance. Her sword was raised and her eyes were pitiless.

“You're turning into a dragon, Cicero. The beast inside, it got out. And wild beasts need to be put down.” She swung the sword and Cicero rolled aside, reflexes kicking in. He staggered to his feet, drawing Dawnbreaker, gold meeting black as he fought, fought for his life, tears blurring his vision but that was alright, they'd trained him to blindfight at Bruma and he couldn't switch his training off, not when he had an opponent coming for him with death in their eyes.

“Forgive me,” he sobbed, driving forward and shoving Dawnbreaker with enough force to penetrate that armour, easily, far too easily now he thought about it, and an explosion of light filled the chamber as the light went out of those beautiful blue eyes and Delphine died in front of him, collapsing to the floor.

Cicero withdrew the sword, tears flowing freely as he howled his grief out, throwing himself over her, kissing her face, sobbing her name, his Listener, pretty Listener, dead and gone, all his fault, gone forever and it was ruined, ruined, his life ruined. This was worse even than Bravil, because this time he'd driven the blade home and the Listener he'd hunted for so long, the Listener he'd sworn to protect with his life, lay dead in a pool of blood.

Except she didn't. No blood. Dawnbreaker was dusty but clean. Slowly, he dried his eyes and looked. The empty eye-sockets of a female Draugr Deathlord stared up at him, and hanging from its waist was a diamond dragon claw that would probably get the door open.

Not her. It wasn't her. It wasn't real, his mind was playing tricks. He blinked once, and it was Delphine lying dead, hair spread out as those delicate Breton features stared back up at him. He blinked again and it was just a Draugr. 

Not real, he told himself. None of it was real. He'd dreamed it. Dreamed all of it? Dreamed a fictional Listener because no real one had ever turned up? Of course he had. She couldn't be real, it simply wasn't possible that the long-awaited Listener had turned out to be so beautiful and perfect and cruel and cunning and just... Not real. A dream. A lovely dream but now it was over, and he had to get out of this place, wherever it was. Skuldafn, was it? He couldn't remember now, but he had to move on. Grabbing the claw, he set about getting the door open.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Delphine followed Gianna up the stairs, smiling cheerfully as the cook carried their Potage a la Instant Death up to its unsuspecting recipient. It had been so easy, just walk in, act like an unforgiving diva, fling random ingredients into the broth as if she knew exactly what she was doing, and it had worked. Poor, foolish Gianna had believed every word, and when she'd offered her secret ingredient, the woman had accepted without question. Delphine could hardly believe how well this was going. All that remained was to watch the fun from the carefully chosen position by the door that led to the quick exit out of Solitude, and then flee without getting caught.

Her cheerful attitude lasted right up until she walked into the Imperial dining room behind Gianna, took one look at the man in Emperor's robes at the head of the table and felt her blood chill. This was wrong. This whole plan was wrong. They'd been set up or someone had tipped Maro off or maybe the Penitus Oculatus had just got so paranoid they weren't taking any chances. Because Delphine had seen Titus Mede in person while she'd been based in Cyrodiil, he'd officiated at her passing out ceremony where she'd been made a full Knight Sister. Sure it had been over thirty years ago, but Delphine's memory was just fine and this was not the same man.

_How could they know, no one knew, no one but me and Cicero and Motierre himself..._

Hardly daring to breathe, Delphine made her way over to the door leading out to the bridge. The whole operation had fallen apart, but she had no choice but to go through with it anyway. Act normal, just act normal...

The fake Emperor starting tucking in, complimenting her cooking. Delphine could only keep smiling, right up until the poison took effect and the decoy choked his last. Guards were already moving in on Gianna and they were moving in on her too, but Delphine had been ready. A left hook to one, dagger stab to another and she was fleeing, out the door, out into the Solitude sunshine and over the bridge to safety.

Or at least, she was until three Penitus Oculatus agents emerged on to the bridge in front of her, and in the tower up above, Commander Maro stepped into the window, smiling grimly down at her.

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here. A skeever caught in a trap. You didn't really think you'd get away with this, did you?”

“How...?” was all Delphine could ask. How had he caught them? How had he known??

“How did I know? Oh come now, it wasn't difficult to guess. Every innkeeper in Skyrim's whispering how the Brotherhood are back and to be feared. First you kill Vittoria Vici and inflame the war, then you kill my son and try to paint him as a traitor? I knew you'd try something. It was only a matter of time. Had a decoy installed here with a great fanfare, hoping it'd draw you out. Well, I was right, wasn't I? And then you had the nerve to offer your condolences on my Gaius, when you killed him? Hoping to get a rise out of seeing me grieving? I knew. Knew it was you right then, could see it in your eyes. Well, you're too late. I've had my own spies out and I know where your Sanctuary is, know the passphrase too. I was just biding my time, waiting for the right moment to strike. I think this might be it, don't you think? Time to wipe you vermin from Tamriel for good.”

Delphine's blood chilled. She should have thought of this, but she'd sworn he would have been grieving, too angry to think straight and prone to rash decisions. She'd clearly underestimated him. And how he could possibly know where Sky Haven Temple was, she had no idea. She'd been so careful. 

“You bastard,” she snapped back at him. “I swear by Sithis you will never defeat us!”

Maro just raised an eyebrow. “Oh no? It's too late. The preparations are already in motion, the wagons left an hour ago, just after I let you in to the castle. By tomorrow, your Sanctuary will be in ruins, put to fire and the sword. But don't worry. You'll be long dead by then. Kill her!”

Delphine drew her dagger, prepared to go down fighting as the Oculatus agents approached. One man, two women – odd, she'd not seen many women in the Penitus Oculatus before, and one of them was a Dunmer. Uniforms didn't seem to fit that well either. Then they got closer and Delphine got a good look at them.

Aranea placed a finger to her lips. Eola winked at her. Calixto just smiled. Delphine notice the tears and blood on the armour and could have collapsed in relief. Her back-up plan had worked. No one got past her assassins, her merciless, fierce, brutal, beloved Family. She looked up at Maro, smile on her face.

“Maro, you fool,” she laughed. “No one kills Death Incarnate!”

As if on cue, Sapphire pounced on Maro from behind, neatly drawing Mehrunes Razor across his throat. Maro stared at the blood spatter on his hands, seemingly unable to realise it was his own, and then he was falling to the floor, dead.

Next thing Delphine knew, weapons had been sheathed and Eola had sprinted forwards, arms around her and hugging her tightly.

“Del, you're alright, thank Namira and the old gods. Babette's guarding the exit for us, let's go.”

Delphine nodded and let Eola lead her out as the group broke and ran for the stairs, Aranea and Calixto both casting runes to discourage anyone from following.

Babette was waiting by the gate, eyes wide and trembling all over. Delphine didn't have time to ask what was wrong though. They had to get out of here. Imperial armour was abandoned as everyone changed back into Shrouded gear, and then they were out the gate, sprinting down the road and swimming for Hjaalmarch. They didn't stop running for some several hours, Calixto carrying Babette so she didn't get left behind, not until they finally reached Ustengrav. Delphine swallowed the lump in her throat and finally settled down by the ruins while Sapphire and Aranea went to retrieve all the supplies they'd stashed away here, including Delphine's Blades armour.

“So Del, what happened?” Eola asked. “I take it that those agents and Maro himself being there meant we've been rumbled.”

Delphine nodded. “Afraid so. The plan's over. Maro had heard rumours of the Brotherhood being back, and murdering his son just made him more focused. Damn Motierre! He requested all these kills leading up to the Emperor. If he'd just given me the target and let me get on with it...”

“Don't blame yourself, Delphine,” said Calixto roughly. “You weren't the one writing Hail Sithis all over your first kill.”

“Yes, which you did on my orders because I couldn't bring myself to have you kill a boy when he inevitably couldn't pay us,” Delphine sighed.

“He did pay us,” said Eola softly. “He came and warned us Astrid was after us. Gave us time to retreat, regroup, get the Night Mother to safety. No offence, Babette. And, er, sorry about the candle thing.”

“It's OK,” Babette whispered. “Did – did I hear right? He'd ordered men after your Sanctuary?”

“That's what he said,” said Delphine, frowning. “I don't know how he could possibly know about it though. It's never historically been a Brotherhood base and no one even knew it was there. Not unless he's infiltrated the Forsworn somehow...”

That was a chilling thought. On the other hand, Madanach was as paranoid as she was and surely his camp at least was loyal. It was more than proof against a Penitus Oculatus raid in any case.

“There are no Oculatus agents in the Forsworn,” said Eola fiercely. “Believe me, we can tell outsiders a mile off. He's lying, Delphine. He was trying to mess with your head. We don't even have a passphrase.”

Babette made a little choking noise that was almost a sob, as she scrambled to her feet.

“Astrid!” she cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The action doesn't let up next chapter either. It's Death Incarnate time. Will Delphine and co get there in time? Who lives? Who dies? Next time, all will be revealed...


	32. Death Incarnate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far Commander Maro was concerned, there was only one Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary in Skyrim, so having it burnt should destroy them for good, right? Wrong.

They'd flown into action immediately, Delphine sending Calixto to fetch Aranea and Sapphire, and then leading them all on a raid on the nearby Stormcloak camp. Eola and Aranea and their Atronachs had caused mayhem, while Calixto, Delphine and Sapphire had stolen three horses. Now they were riding south as fast as they could, not sparing the horses for a second. Aranea was clinging on behind Calixto, Eola behind Sapphire, and Delphine had Babette sitting in front of her.

“We're only a couple of hours behind them,” Delphine whispered to the girl. “And wagons are slow. We can get there in time, I know it. We can warn Astrid, we can stop this.”

“And if we can't?” Babette had tears rolling down her cheeks, but wasn't actually sobbing. The little vampire was scared but doing her best not to show it. Delphine couldn't blame her. Knowing the Penitus Oculatus were on their way to slaughter your family was hard on anyone.

“Then we send them all to the Void,” Delphine promised. “No one messes with the Brotherhood. No one.”

“Why would you care?” Babette laughed bitterly. “You're a Blade.”

“I'm the Listener,” said Delphine grimly. “I hear the voice of the Night Mother herself. I was a Blade once, but Titus Mede sold us all to the Thalmor. Now his men are trying to hurt my new Family? No. We fight, we kill, we avenge.”

“We tried to kill you,” said Babette, her voice shaking. 

“I know,” said Delphine. “I've tried to kill people too – mostly I've succeeded. It's not usually personal. No hard feelings.”

They were riding too fast for Babette to hug her, but had they not been galloping across the tundra, Delphine was sure Babette would have. As it is, Babette squeezed Delphine's hand.

“None here either. Thank you... sister.”

Delphine tightened her grip on Babette. Sister. She wasn't sure anyone from Falkreath had called her that before and genuinely meant it. 

“It'll be alright,” Delphine whispered to her. “If the worst happens... you come back with us. Plenty of room at Sky Haven Temple for another assassin.”

“It won't come to that,” Babette whispered back. Delphine hoped for her sake the girl was right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Astrid cursed as she duelled two Penitus Oculatus agents at once. How had they got in, how? Treachery? Betrayal? No one knew the passphrase, she was sure. No one who wasn't a member of her Sanctuary... or the Listener's team. It was them, it had to be, avoiding breaking the fifth Tenet by sacrificing her Sanctuary to the Penitus Oculatus. She could smell smoke, hear screams, knew her Family were dying, her Sanctuary burning, and she could do nothing, nothing at all. She was too busy fighting for her own life.

One of them got past her guard and ran a sword into her gut. Astrid cried out, sinking to the floor, the Blade of Woe crashing to the floor. The Oculatus agents were retreating and Astrid tried to crawl forward. There were healing potions in her dresser, she could stop this, she could... then one of them flung a torch into the oil they'd scattered around her bedroom and the place ignited. Astrid screamed, rolling away into a foetal position, trying to seek cover but she was in pain and she was scared of fire, more scared than she was of anything, oh Sithis, not like this, not like this, please.

“Night Mother, help me,” she sobbed. “I'm sorry, please don't let me die, if I survive this, I will follow the old ways, I swear...” If that bitch of a Listener hadn't caused all this of course. Astrid felt the flames licking her back, searing her armour and this would leave scars if she survived at all...

She dimly heard screams from outside in the corridor, then a man's voice shouting “Hail Sithis!” and a woman shouting “Glory to Namira!” but she must be hallucinating, no one in the Oculatus was into Daedra worship surely. Then the room was full of frost magic and Astrid whimpered, but she was a Nord, she could handle the cold. The fire died and she could almost weep as she heard steel boots on stone and Delphine's voice.

“Well? Is she alive?”

“Yes,” and it was the Butcher of Windhelm himself, Sithis bless the man. “Hurt though. Bleeding from a stomach wound, and her back...”

“Can you treat her?” 

“Yes. Leave me those potions and make sure no one gets past you.”

“Do you need any help, Cal?” That was their Dunmer.

“No, love, go and help Eola and Sapphire.”

Judging from the sound of Destruction magic flaring and someone gurgling like their throat had been cut, Eola and Sapphire were doing just fine, but retreating footsteps indicated Aranea and Delphine had gone. More frost magic burnt into her back and it hurt like the Void but then the pain was gone as the cold numbed her and she was rolled on to her back.

Astrid opened her eyes finally. The fire was out and the ceiling was black, the walls were black, everything was black except the red on the armour of the Imperial smiling sadly down at her, and the green on the amulet round his neck.

He was already slicing her armour away with his dagger, wincing at her abdominal wound. 

“This is going to hurt, I'm afraid,” he sighed as he cracked a potion open and poured the entire contents over her. 

Astrid screamed as loudly as her smoke-damaged throat would allow. Calixto had removed his gloves, poured a bottle of Alto wine over his hands and reached inside, manipulating flesh. Magic flowed into her, like and unlike any Restoration magic she'd ever felt before.

“What... are you doing?” she managed to croak. It hurt, it hurt, it burned inside, but it felt clean at least.

“Reminding your flesh what it's meant to be like,” came the response. “Yes, it does hurt, I do apologise, but you're going to live.”

That was something at least. Astrid closed her eyes and decided she'd had quite enough for one day and promptly passed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Delphine followed Aranea down the corridor, glad that Aranea's frost magic was dowsing the remaining flames that Eola hadn't got to and dispelling the smoke. Eola and Sapphire had got to the knot of bodies in the central hall near Arnbjorn's forge and while they'd been too late to save Veezara, Arnbjorn's hulking beast form was still breathing. The werewolf was kneeling, bleeding from a great many cuts, but Eola was standing over him, blasting him with healing magic, while Sapphire finished the last of the Oculatus agents.

“Alright, wolfie, you're going to live,” Eola was saying. “Now, your wife's down but not out and Cal's seeing to her. Man's a damn genius with wounds, she'll be fine. Now Saffie here is going to escort you outside to where Babette's on watch while I follow the Listener and see who else is still breathing – no, _don't_ lunge at me, I'm on your side!” Eola brandished the Skull of Corruption in Arnbjorn's face as he growled at her. He took one look at the Skull and fell back, whimpering. Hircine's blood not strong enough to outmatch Vaermina's Skull, it seemed. Arnbjorn's beast form faded, and Arnbjorn the man seemed willing enough to stagger out, clutching on to Sapphire for balance. Delphine raced on into the alchemy room, Eola falling in behind her.

Aranea's howl of grief led Delphine to expect the worst, and sure enough Gabriella was lying dead, butchered on her own worktable.

“Aranea, I'm so sorry,” Delphine began, but the rage in Aranea's eyes made even her flinch back.

“I will kill _all of them,_ ” Aranea growled, lightning flaring in both hands.

“Attagirl, 'Nea,” said Eola, a frost spell already glowing in her spare hand. “Shall we?”

Both mages piled through into the next room, frost magic crackling across the room, felling a couple of agents in their tracks and putting flames out where it found them. Delphine dived after them – just in time it turned out as the roof caved in behind her, cutting them off.

Up the stairs in the sleeping area, Nazir was fending off three agents. Or at least he was until lightning arced up and sent one flying. Delphine drew her katana, knowing her Blades armour would keep the fire off her – for a time at least – and her Breton blood would give her some immunity from Eola and Aranea's magical attacks should a stray bolt come her way. A blast from the Skull did for the second agent, and now Delphine was facing number three. He turned, took one look at her armour and said, confused, “What's a Blade doing here??”

“Ending your life,” was all Delphine said as her katana took his head off. She pulled her helmet off and turned to Nazir. “Are you alright?”

Nazir nodded, stunned. “Thanks to you. What's going on?? How'd they get in here?”

“No time to explain,” said Delphine. “Let's just get out of here.” The way they'd come in was blocked, but Nazir led them out the other door. One route back out was blocked by another cave-in, but there was still a way out through the chapel. Or at least Delphine had thought there was until another explosion rocked the Sanctuary and the door on the other side refused to open. The fire had welded the steel doors shut and even the combined effort of Eola and Aranea's frost magic refused to open it. Not only that, both women were low on magicka and with smoke filling the room, they didn't have a lot of options. Delphine motioned for them all to drop to the floor. It'd buy them a little time at least. 

“What do we do?” Aranea gasped. “There's no way out!”

There had to be. Night Mother, Night Mother, they couldn't die like this. But they didn't have many options, with one set of doors welded together and the other exits blocked by stone. There was that stained glass window that faced onto the hall, but it didn't open. Not unless someone broke it...

Nazir was coughing and Eola, smallest of the three, was looking distinctly pale. She had her head in Aranea's lap, and the Dunmer wasn't looking too good either. 

_Not like this. Not you, not my Eola. Not any of you, dammit!_ They had to break that window somehow but what with, Delphine had no idea. She looked over Aranea in her Shrouded Robes, Nazir in his Alik'r clothes, and Eola, now unconscious in Aranea's arms. Delphine felt panic start to coil inside at the sight, then she glanced down at her own outfit. Akaviri steel all over and an ebony helmet that could hide her face. Heaviest armour of the lot of them. She put her helmet back on.

“Nazir,” she said. “Carry Eola, then you and Aranea after me.” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and ran at full speed towards the window, shutting her eyes as she smashed into it.

Glass shattered, the soft bands of lead that held the thing together weakened by the heat and breaking easily, and the window exploded. Delphine flew out, crashing into the pool, her armour absorbing most of the impact but her wrist flaring in agony. That was a sprain at best. But she was alive and so was Nazir, crashing next to her with Eola over his shoulder and managing not to drop her. Then Aranea followed, landing nimbly as only an elf could manage, and was reaching down to help Delphine up. Clinging on to her, Delphine staggered out of the smoking ruin that was Falkreath Sanctuary and out into the forest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Hold still,” Aranea said, casting Healing Hands on Delphine's wrist. “It's only a sprain, it's not broken, but even so...” She finished casting. “There. Try flexing it.”

Delphine did so. No pain. Good as new.

“You're a marvel. Thank you, Aranea.”

Aranea barely managed a smile. “No problem, Listener.”

Delphine surveyed the rest of what remained of the Brotherhood. They'd all grouped around the black pool outside the Sanctuary while the smoke cleared. The fires were all out now – frost magic had helped but in all honesty it was mostly because there wasn't a lot else to burn. Astrid was still unconscious – the stomach wound was sealed but even Calixto was having trouble with the burns on her back. He'd managed to get the ruined mass of skin to at least scab over, but he'd said she'd have the scars for the rest of her life. Arnbjorn, who'd not left her side since Calixto had brought her out, had just clutched Astrid's hand and said he didn't care, as long as she lived. He didn't even seem that bothered about his own wounds, but Babette had made him drink healing potions. She had few enough family members left, she'd shouted at him, she wouldn't lose another because someone was too stubborn to get medical attention. He'd growled but given in.

Eola was also still out of it, but she looked better and she was breathing, thank Sithis, she was breathing. Nazir was tending to her, potions at the ready for when she woke up.

“Is she going to be alright?” Delphine asked, feeling sick with worry. Never mind Astrid, never mind the dead. If the price of this was Eola... Delphine wasn't entirely sure it was worth it.

“She lives and she breathes,” said Aranea, her voice rougher than usual. “Don't know if she'll be able to talk much when she wakes up, but she will wake, I promise you.”

“More than can be said for old Festus,” said Nazir grimly. Delphine had arrived just in time to see an agent finishing the old man, who was already pinned to a tree by arrows. They'd since got him down, laying the body by the pool. They'd inter him properly before leaving, along with Gabriella and Veezara. Three dead. A Sanctuary destroyed. A dark day indeed for the Brotherhood.

“I'm so sorry,” said Delphine, guilt clawing at her. Now the fear and adrenaline and fury had worn off, it was all she could feel. Her fault, her contract, a contract she'd not even been able to complete, all this had brought the wrath of the Penitus Oculatus down on Falkreath. “We couldn't do a thing, we were too late. I'm so sorry, Nazir.”

To her surprise, the Redguard warrior took her hand, smiling. “Delphine. If you hadn't shown up when you did, I think they'd have killed us all. You personally saved my sorry hide, not once but twice. Listener, you don't need to apologise for a damn thing.”

Delphine shook her head. “You don't understand, Nazir. This whole attack is my fault. It was my contract, the jobs my people did, that brought this down on you. Maro wanted revenge on the Brotherhood for killing his son, but he didn't know there were two Sanctuaries. So he had the one he did know about burned down. This whole mess is because of me – if I'd never been Listener, you'd never have been targeted.”

“Did you tell him where we were?” said Nazir quietly. “Did you tell him our passphrase?”

“What?? No, of course not!” Delphine cried. “Why on Nirn would I have gone to all the trouble of forcing a surrender out of you just to have the Penitus Oculatus kill you all??”

“We're quite capable of doing our own killing, thank you very much,” Aranea confirmed.

Nazir grinned, flashing white teeth at them. “I've seen that for myself today. You ladies and gents are fierce. So if you didn't tell them how to get to us, and none of us sold the Sanctuary out, that means he had spies who'd tracked us down anyway. Maybe your jobs got his attention, but if he knew where we were and how to get to us, it was only a matter of time. Delphine, this was in no way your fault, and I will stand by your side and tell Astrid herself that if I have to. Babette too, I think. Don't know about Arnbjorn yet, but if your man the Butcher just saved Astrid's life, I don't think he'll give you any trouble.”

“Thank you,” said Delphine softly, feeling the guilt start to abate a little. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, I appreciate living and breathing, so I guess we're even,” Nazir laughed. Delphine managed a smile at that, then everyone was distracted by a cry from Babette.

“Astrid!” she cried, delighted.

“Wife,” Delphine heard Arnbjorn growl. “Wife, are you alright? Talk to me.”

“Look after Eola,” whispered Delphine to Aranea. “I should go and check on Astrid.”

Aranea nodded, promising to call Delphine immediately if anything happened. With one last look at Eola, Delphine followed Nazir to where Astrid was lying face down. Sapphire had just returned from an impromptu visit to Falkreath with her arms full of supplies, including bandages, healing potions, and a bundle of furs, one of which was now draped over Astrid.

“Arnbjorn?” Astrid whispered, looking impossibly weak and pale, not at all like the imposing Sanctuary leader Delphine remembered.

“I'm right here,” Arnbjorn murmured, kissing the top of her head, and Delphine felt her heart ache at the sight. Cicero should be here, her jester should have been alongside them, he should be with her right now, in her arms, comforting her or tending to Eola or... He should be here. But he wasn't.

Delphine shoved the hurt to one side and knelt next to Calixto, on Astrid's other side.

“Astrid,” said Delphine. “How are you feeling?”

“Hurts,” Astrid whispered. “My back – so much pain. They stabbed me too...”

“They did, but you're going to live,” said Calixto, his face still sombre. “I healed most of it, but you'll be sore for a while. You won't be going out on any jobs any time soon, that's for certain. And... I hope you didn't want children. I'm not sure you'll be able to any more.”

Astrid closed her eyes, breathed in and let it go. She opened them again, bitter smile on her face. “It's fine. I'm thirty seven years old, been married for a decade, if we were going to bother, we'd have done it by now. Arnbjorn?” Delphine did not miss the plaintive note in her voice, the _please don't leave me_ note she never thought she'd hear from Astrid of all people.

Arnbjorn just stroked her hair. “Wife, you nearly died, our home's in ruins, we lost three of our family, do you really think I care about whether or not you'll still be fertile? You are what I care about, my love, not some mewling brat we might or might not have had in future.”

Astrid nodded, clutching his hand like her life depended on it. Then her eyes flicked open.

“Wait, we lost three? Who??”

“Festus, Veezara and Gabriella,” said Nazir. “Damn Oculatus soldiers just butchered them.”

Astrid curled into a ball, closing her eyes and began to sob. Arnbjorn stroked her hair and Babette cuddled her, with Nazir at her back, a hand on her arm. Feeling like she was intruding, Delphine got up and left the remainder of Falkreath to their grief. She dispatched Calixto and Sapphire to go back into the Sanctuary for Veezara and Gabriella's bodies, and to see if any personal effects or anything worth taking had survived the fire. She didn't think much would but anything that had would help. With them occupied, she returned to where Aranea was cradling Eola.

“No, Guardian, don't try to talk,” Aranea snapped at Eola. “You've inhaled a lot of smoke, you're not fire-resistant and you have the smallest lungs out of the lot of us. Yes, you'll heal, but you need to rest your voice. That means no talking. None.”

There came a plaintive wail from Eola's throat that immediately cut off in a whimper of pain then silence. Delphine felt her heart skip a beat as she knelt by Eola's side. She was awake at last, her sighted eye staring brightly back at her as she smiled to see Delphine.

“You're awake. Thank Talos,” said Delphine softly. Eola nodded, squeezing Delphine's hand.

“She's not going to be able to talk for a while,” Aranea warned her. “Probably not for another week at least. Maybe two.”

Eola pouted up at her, clearly protesting the injustice of it all.

“Don't look at me like that,” said Delphine, doing her best to look stern. “I'm not going to override a trained healer's medical advice. Not a word out of your lips, young lady.”

Eola's pout deepened, and the girl started fluttering her eyelashes. Delphine had to laugh. She lent down and kissed the top of Eola's head. 

“Eola, sweetheart. The answer's still no. No talking for you. Listener's orders.”

Eola sighed, exasperated. She gave in and didn't even object when Delphine ruffled her hair. Delphine smiled, feeling the relief hit her. Eola was going to be fine.

Of course, that did leave a Falkreath Sanctuary that was anything but. This was going to be an utter mess to sort out and seeing as Delphine's actions had brought this on them, she didn't have a lot of choice. 

“We're going to have to take them all back with us, aren't we?” she sighed. Aranea nodded.

“I'm afraid so, Listener. Astrid's going to need constant care and medical attention for the next few weeks, and they've got nowhere else to go. You may as well let them in on where we live. They're not going to betray us. You heard Nazir. He and Babette at least will follow you anywhere now.”

That at least was true. Delphine glanced over to where the four of them were still huddling, and noticed Babette looking up. The vampire girl caught her eye and smiled shyly before turning back to hear what Astrid was saying.

“We should get our fallen interred, quickly,” said Delphine. “I want to be out of here by sunrise. Don't want the Jarl's men investigating – we're in no state to fight. Aranea, you were priestess on call to the Brotherhood, do you know if there's a funeral service to follow?”

Aranea smiled. “Yes, I can do the Last Rites of Sithis. It's fine. It'll be a short ceremony, but a full memorial can be done later, when Astrid's better and the Falkreath team are recovered. Which they'll probably want to arrange themselves, but that's fair enough.”

So it was that the three dead assassins were laid out in the hall of Falkreath, with candles lit in a circle around them and nightshade petals strewn over the corpses. Aranea said an invocation to Sithis and the Night Mother, Delphine said a few words and then everyone from Karthspire filed out to leave the Falkreath survivors alone to say goodbye. Twenty minutes after that, Arnbjorn emerged with Astrid in his arms, Babette by his side and Nazir bringing up the rear. They stood and watched in silence as Calixto and Aranea stepped forward, joined hands and with conjoined Destruction spells, brought the rocks above the doorway down in a landslide, sealing the dead Sanctuary and turning it into a tomb.

“Now what?” said Arnbjorn gruffly. Astrid was silent, eyes closed and huddled in her husband's arms, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“The Oculatus left their carts and horses here,” said Delphine. “We've commandeered two of them. Won't be the comfiest ride ever, but Astrid and Eola won't be able to walk yet, and we're all tired. I'm thinking Calixto, Sapphire, me, Eola and Babette in the first carriage, you, Astrid, Aranea and Nazir in the other.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Arnbjorn growled. “And where might you be taking us, hmm?” His entire demeanour had gone cold and he was glaring at Delphine with thinly-veiled hostility.

“Home,” said Delphine, not about to lose a dominance contest with Arnbjorn of all people. “To my Sanctuary. Unless you and Astrid had somewhere else in mind?”

“And bear in mind your wife is going to need to be able to rest in safety and comfort for the next few weeks, with healers and potions on hand,” Aranea pointed out. “Holing up in a cave or abandoned ruin is not an option.”

“Arnbjorn,” said Astrid softly and his stance eased as he looked down at her.

“Wife?” he asked, his voice gentle as it shifted into a tone reserved for none but her.

“We're going with them. Get me on that carriage.”

Arnbjorn still didn't look pleased, but he acquiesced. Astrid was soon lying in the back of one of the carriages, her injuries bandaged and wrapped in a ball of furs to keep her warm, as most of her armour had had to be sliced off her. Arnbjorn was by her side, and Aranea joined them, just in case of trouble, while Nazir took the reins. Delphine meanwhile had climbed into the other carriage that Calixto was going to be driving. Eola had been loaded into the back, with Babette keeping an eye on her, and Sapphire was riding up front with Calixto.

Babette looked up, smiling sadly at Delphine.

“Thank you, Listener,” she said quietly. “I'd have lost them all if not for you.”

“Don't mention it,” said Delphine. “It was my damn contract that got you into trouble, it was the least I could do. I only wish we'd got here sooner.”

Babette climbed across the carriage to sit next to Delphine, slipping her arms around her.

“It's alright, Delphine,” said Babette. “We're alive, and you're going to descend on the Penitus Oculatus outpost in Dragon Bridge and get revenge, right?”

“Maybe,” said Delphine, already plotting. She wasn't entirely sure where to go from here and even less sure how it was going to work out being under the same roof as Astrid, but taking revenge on the Oculatus? It was a good place to start.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cicero watched the sun set over Skyrim from the top of Skuldafn. He'd learnt a new Shout from Skuldafn Word Wall, one that could call a storm out of the sky. He was tempted to do it now for dramatic effect but the sunset was too pretty to ruin. He'd always liked sunsets. 

This one was likely to be his last.

“Goodbye, Eola,” he whispered. “Goodbye, Paarthurnax and Odahviing and Arngeir. Goodbye... my Listener.”

He shut his eyes, feeling the tears fall and only just biting back a sob. He was sorry, so sorry, but he'd never be able to tell her. She'd abandoned him for good.

No place left for him in this world. He wasn't a young man any more. He was too old to start again. Too many endings in one lifetime, first his brave and beautiful mother, then Bruma, then Andronica... and now just as his life started to get back on track, Delphine walked away from him. His only consolation was at least the Brotherhood was strong again. Powerful again. She was the best thing to happen to it in centuries. The best thing to happen to him ever.

He loved her beyond all reason and now she was gone. No point carrying on. There was no up point from here. Best to get it over with. 

He picked up the staff he'd salvaged from that Dragon Priest. The mask had looked quite nice too – bit heavy for his tastes and the magical enhancements were of limited use to him, but he'd thought Eola might... Well. He'd take it anyway. 

Bracing himself, he slammed the staff into the altar and watched the portal re-open. Now or never.

“Coming, Mother,” he whispered and dived in.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Twenty four hours later, and things could have been going worse. In a way, it was a mercy Cicero wasn't here – he'd always been the most vocal in his dislike of Falkreath. As it was, everyone else had a bit more sense than to cause trouble, and things weren't as tense as they could have been. Astrid had been installed in one of the nicer bedrooms in a double bed, and Arnbjorn spent most of his time with her. Nazir and Babette had gathered in there with her and spent a good three hours talking in private. Delphine guessed that the Titus Mede job and the subsequent Falkreath rescue were featuring prominently. What Astrid was likely to make of it all was anyone's guess, but Delphine was sure Astrid would understand that Delphine couldn't have not taken the job.

Nazir and Babette were making themselves at home, both being perfectly polite to everyone, helping with chores and generally doing their best to fit in. They were even being nice to Esbern, who had been understandably nervous about four unknown but definitely dangerous assassins turning up for what could be a lengthy stay. Aventus meanwhile had been wary at first, but Nazir was teaching him a few tricks and apparently once he and Babette had had a fight over the whole breaking into his house/hitting her with a lit candle thing and got it out of their systems, they'd come to some sort of agreement. Last Delphine had seen of them, they'd been brewing some sort of... she didn't really want to know what it was, but it was probably toxic.

Arnbjorn was a rather different proposition – when not in with Astrid, he was doing his best to aggravate everyone, desperately strutting around in some sort of attempt to be the top dog and referring to everyone as 'titbit' or 'morsel' and baring his teeth. Which might have worked in his favour had he not tried it on Eola, who'd just looked at him, rolled her eyes and written him a sign reading “Werewolves taste great with nightshade. Don't tempt me.” He'd shut up after that. Despite the attitude, he'd not seriously tried to challenge Delphine herself. Astrid must have said something – either that or being on her turf had made him wary.

They couldn't stay here forever. Astrid would get better soon enough, and then things would get interesting. For all the dominance battling Arnbjorn had been trying, it was nothing compared to what a fully healthy Astrid was capable of. Delphine had forged a detente based on Astrid nominally ceding authority to her as Listener but in practice still being boss of her own Sanctuary. Accepting being a subordinate in someone else's was not going to happen, Delphine knew that. Still, for now Astrid was weakened and apparently toeing the line. Could be worse.

“Delphine?” It was Babette, slipping out of the shadows near Alduin's Wall.

“Yes, Babette? Is everything alright? How's Astrid doing?” Babette had been in there with her earlier, inspecting her wounds and applying a fresh poultice. 

“She's doing really well, Listener. No infection, things are healing up well. She's still in a lot of pain, but I've got some potions to help out with that. When you next see Calixto, you tell him thank you from me. He's done a fantastic job with her, him and Aranea both.”

“I'll pass it on,” Delphine promised. “Now, what were you after? More supplies? If you need anything, get me a list, I can countersign it and have Sapphire or Aventus or someone run it down to Madanach for you.”

Babette shook her head. “No, no. It's just Astrid's awake and she wanted to talk to you. In private.”

There was a surprise. Not like Delphine hadn't seen that one coming. Now that the immediate danger was past and Astrid was starting to recover a little, of course there'd need to be some sort of discussion. She'd just expected to have a few more days.

“All right. I suppose you'd better take me to her then.”

Astrid was awake and conscious, lying on her front with one hand propping her head up, talking to Arnbjorn. She was wearing a nightshift Aranea had lent her, but the bandages were visible underneath. Arnbjorn was by her side, kissing the back of her hand. The gentle expression on his face vanished as Delphine walked in.

“What do you want?” he growled. “Astrid's still resting.”

Delphine ignored him. “Astrid. Babette said you wanted to speak with me?”

“She did indeed,” said Astrid, smiling lazily. “Husband, if you'll excuse us? I'd like a few minutes alone with the Listener.”

“What??” Arnbjorn snapped. “I'm not leaving you alone with her. At least call Babette in here.”

“ _Husband._ ” Astrid's voice was a little hoarse from the fire but had lost none of its force. “Go. I'll be quite safe. I am sure Delphine is a great respecter of the laws of hospitality, just like anyone else.”

Arnbjorn growled but did as he was told. Delphine waited until the door closed before turning back to Astrid.

“So how are you feeling then? Babette tells me you're doing well.”

“Exhausted,” said Astrid, gritting her teeth. “In constant pain, and while Babette's potions help, they also render me semi-conscious and incoherent, so I'm presently taking a very low dose. Don't tell her that.”

“I won't,” Delphine promised, realising just how much strength this conversation must be taking for Astrid. “Listen, I can come back later if you want to rest...”

“No,” said Astrid firmly. “I've gone to a lot of effort to make sure I'm awake enough to talk, I don't want to waste it. Afterwards I promise I'll be knocking back the full dose of pain potions and going to sleep. But right now, I want to talk to you. About what happened. Nazir told me about how your Family showed up just in time and literally dragged his arse out of the fire, and Babette told me why we'd been attacked. Delphine... thank you. For risking your own lives coming to get us. Maybe you wouldn't have bothered if Babette hadn't been with you, but she told me that as soon as you realised who Maro was attacking, you didn't even stop to think, you just stole three horses from an enemy army camp and rode non-stop to get here. If you weren't able to save my Sanctuary, you saved my life and my husband's and Nazir's too. Don't ever think I'm not grateful.”

“But,” said Delphine, aware that there had to be another part to this conversation. Astrid was not one to want a private conversation just to tell her that.

“But you owe me,” said Astrid softly. “My Sanctuary, my brothers and sister's lives. All destroyed because Maro wanted revenge for you killing his son. Because you tried to kill the Emperor of Tamriel.”

“I can hardly be blamed for taking a contract that size, Astrid,” said Delphine, bristling a little despite the fact that Astrid had a very valid point. “Don't tell me you'd not have done the same.”

“Oh, of course I would, don't mistake me,” Astrid purred. “I'm not saying you did anything so terribly wrong. But the fact remains I have no Sanctuary, I lost three dear friends and nearly lost my own life. Delphine, dearest, I'm happy to stay here while I recover but you must agree this will never work out full-time. Nothing personal, but this Sanctuary isn't big enough for the both of us and when your lover returns from this special job you've sent him on – well, I can't see him tolerating us for long.”

“He might not ever come back,” said Delphine roughly, not willing to cry in front of Astrid of all people. Astrid, to her credit, did relent slightly.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” she said. “But even so... Arnbjorn's already been butting heads with Calixto and Eola, and I'm sure there'll come a time when I start having differences of opinion with you. We're both too strong and unwilling to back down. And I'm twenty years younger than you, and you don't have your jester. We both know how it would end.”

Delphine wasn't nearly as sure about that as Astrid seemed to be. She might not have Cicero, but she still had four other loyal assassins plus Esbern. Having said that, a fight within the Brotherhood benefited no one.

“So what are you asking me for then?” said Delphine. 

“Simple,” Astrid laughed in her poisoned honey purr. “I want a new Sanctuary. For me and Arnbjorn and Nazir and Babette. Somewhere I can settle down with what's left of my Family and start over. And I want a cut of whatever this Motierre's paying you for the Emperor job. That contract killed half my Family. I want half the reward.”

“Half??” Delphine cried. “Now wait a minute, we've done all the work on that one! Not only that, we've not even managed the job! None of us will be seeing anything from that now.”

“No?” Astrid raised an eyebrow. “Are you not seeing it through? That is most unlike you. The Emperor's still in Skyrim most likely. Probably lulled into a false sense of security what with believing the sole Sanctuary in Tamriel is a burnt-out wreck. He likely thinks it will take time for any survivors to regroup, and with Maro dead, chances are the Oculatus are still in disarray. You'll never have a better time than right now.”

“But I don't even know where he is,” Delphine protested. “Not in Castle Dour, of that I'm certain.”

“No, but your client might. This... Motierre. Find him and ask him. Then when you know, get in there and finish the job.”

Hmm. It was worth a shot. She didn't like the idea of leaving her Sanctuary to its own devices under these circumstances, but she couldn't send anyone else. Motierre only knew her and Cicero, and she didn't have Cicero.

“All right. I'll leave for Whiterun immediately. Don't get any ideas though. Madanach's been told that if he sees any of you four leaving without one of us accompanying you, he's to intercept.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Astrid grinned. “But time is of the essence here. You'll need to travel fast. Take my horse, Shadowmere.”

“You have a horse?” Delphine asked, surprised. “Where? Didn't see it at Falkreath.”

“No, you wouldn't,” said Astrid, still grinning. “He was hidden. But don't worry. I can summon him at need, and I did on the way here. You'll find him waiting for you outside the camp. Don't worry, you'll recognise him easily enough. Let's just say he's... one of us.”

“I... thank you,” said Delphine, curious but also a little unnerved by Astrid having some sort of plainly supernatural horse that she could summon at a distance. Still, she needed transport of some sort. She had a client to track down.

Arnbjorn was back by Astrid's side as soon as Delphine had gone. Astrid, no longer needing to stay strong in front of the Listener, promptly collapsed, face down in the pillows.

“Wife,” Arnbjorn growled. “I told you you weren't strong enough. Now look at you.”

“Had to,” Astrid gasped. “No time otherwise – wasted too much as it is...”

Arnbjorn rolled his eyes. “For the love of Sithis, do you ever stop thinking about work?? I swear, wife, when you're better, I'm taking you on a little holiday.”

“Will there be people to kill?” Astrid murmured sleepily. 

“I'll find some just for you,” Arnbjorn promised, kissing the top of her head. “Now take some painkilling tonic and go to sleep. I know you've been skipping doses.”

“Had to,” said Astrid, wincing. “They turn me into a complete zombie and not the dread kind either. Wanted a clear head for Delphine. She's a sharp one.”

“Too sharp,” Arnbjorn growled. He'd still not forgiven her for the whole Gleipnir rope stunt she'd had Cicero pull – the jester might have carried it out, but it had all been her idea. “What did she say anyway? Are we getting our weregild?”

“She's off to look into it right now,” Astrid said, smiling. “I think we'll get something out of this, husband. She knows what'll happen if we don't.”

That did make Arnbjorn smile. He helped Astrid knock back her pain potions and stroked her hair as she drifted off to sleep. He wasn't the most patient of men, but he did like to think of himself as a loving husband, and he'd follow her as long as he lived. If that meant helping her overthrow a Listener who'd screwed them over, he'd do it – but for now, he'd wait and see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The entire Brotherhood, with the exception of Astrid and Arnbjorn, was gathered in the main dining room, and they all stopped what they were doing as Delphine walked in. Even Eola was up and about, although still not allowed to talk. It was amazing how much she could communicate by expression alone.

“Everyone here? Good,” said Delphine. “We've got an important job to get on with and I don't want to have to repeat myself. Babette, could you be a dear and fetch Arnbjorn? We could use him on this venture, I'm sure.”

Babette soon returned with one surly blond werewolf in tow, and everyone gathered round, looking up with interest.

“Well, I won't beat around the bush. We've suffered a bit of a setback, to put it lightly. But we are the Dark Brotherhood and coming back from setbacks is what we do best.”

“You have a plan of some sort, Listener?” Nazir asked, toying with a tankard. Delphine nodded.

“I do. I imagine you've all been talking among yourselves, so I assume everyone here is aware that we had a contract against the Emperor Titus Mede II. A contract that thanks to the Penitus Oculatus, we've yet to fulfil.”

“You cannot be serious!” That was Esbern, from his desk across the room. “The Emperor himself??”

“Yes, the Emperor himself. Problem?” Delphine asked tersely.

There was an uneasy silence, then Esbern just shrugged.

“I'm not a man obsessed with revenge... but give him a twist of the knife for me, won't you dear?”

Delphine had to smile. Esbern might not be an assassin, but it was good to know she wasn't the only Blade harbouring a bit of resentment against the Emperor that had sold them out.

“Will do. So. The Emperor. He's still in Skyrim for now most likely, but we've got no time to lose. He might decide to return to Cyrodiil at any time. So we need to track him down and finish what we started. Or rather, I will be. You lot have another task ahead of you. I'm going to need you to create a distraction. A distraction I think you're going to like.”

Knowing looks were exchanged, Nazir cracked his knuckles, Sapphire was leaning forward eagerly and even Arnbjorn looked interested.

“What manner of distraction, Listener?” Aranea asked. “Would I be right in thinking it's likely to involve fire and blood?”

“Oh yes,” Delphine grinned. “Aranea, you're taking Calixto, Sapphire, Nazir and Arnbjorn, and you're heading to Dragon Bridge. Someone needs teaching a lesson on not tangling with the Brotherhood. Burn that Penitus Oculatus outpost to the ground and kill them all. Leave in the morning, I want it happening tomorrow night. No, Eola, you are not going. You're still ill!”

Eola pouted, holding up a hastily scribbled sign reading “I don't need to speak to fight!”

“I said _no_ ,” said Delphine firmly. “You are staying here. Don't argue with me, young lady.”

Eola whined and sighed as if this was the most unfair thing ever, but she subsided.

“What about me, Listener?” Babette asked, curious and hopeful. “Am I going or did you want me to stay and look after Astrid?”

“Oh now, you my dear have a choice. You can accompany your brothers and sisters on the raid if you like. Or stay here and keep Astrid and Eola company. Or... you can come help me kill an Emperor.”

Babette's eyes widened. “Me?? Why me? I mean, I'd be honoured, but... wouldn't you rather have Nazir or Sapphire?”

Delphine shook her head. “Astrid wants a cut of the reward – well, if she wants that, then one of her team backs me up. You're small, you're hard to spot, you're fast – and you were the first one of Falkreath to call me sister and mean it. So. You want in?”

Babette did. She wanted in very much indeed.

“Better get your things together then, my dear. We're leaving now.”

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Half an hour later, Delphine was making her way out of the Forsworn camp, Babette trotting along behind, hood over her head and wincing in the sunlight.

“So Astrid said her horse would be waiting for us,” said Delphine. “Any idea what it looks like? Astrid wouldn't say, just that I'd know it when I saw it.”

Babette didn't even answer. She just pointed up ahead to where a black horse Delphine hadn't seen before was waiting. Tacked up and armoured in black and red, but that wasn't the thing that tipped Delphine off. No, the glowing red eyes did that.

“Oh, that's a Brotherhood horse all right,” Delphine breathed, unable to take her eyes off it. She wasn't a horse expert per se, but she knew quality when she saw it, and this was a damn fine horse. Fighting back the little stabs of jealousy at Astrid for having such a fine steed, she lifted Babette onto Shadowmere's back and mounted behind her.

“So where are we going?” Babette asked as Delphine spurred Shadowmere off and away towards the road.

“Whiterun,” Delphine replied. “We have a client to catch up with and shake down for information. We're spending the night there... and then we're off to find the Emperor. I'm sure he's near Solitude, but I've no idea where.”

“You really think we can do this?” Babette asked, clinging on to Delphine as the countryside flashed past them. “I mean, kill an Emperor?”

“We're doing this,” said Delphine grimly. “I've got my word to keep and comrades to avenge. He dies, Babette.”

“You'd do all this for Festus, Gabriella and Veezara?” Babette asked, impressed. Delphine laughed.

“Well, yes. But not just them. Every Blade the Thalmor murdered after the war because he abandoned us. And for a little boy called Cicero Di Rosso who was left an orphan by the war and had to fend for himself, a boy Dragonborn that we knew about but could do nothing for because we were too busy trying to save our own hides. That's why I'm doing this, Babette. I can't change the past – but I can avenge it.”

Babette wasn't going to argue. Delphine had a fire in her eyes that could only mean trouble for whoever stood in her way. Babette certainly wasn't going to be among them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for the lack of Cicero, but there's only so many times I can write him killing a Draugr and make it interesting. He's back next chapter, and has a nice surprise waiting for him in Sovngarde.
> 
> Also, I recently edited the third chapter after finding out from Delvin's credit note to Astrid that the amulet's worth five times what I thought it was. So rather than have either Delphine or Brynjolf look like idiots, or Brynjolf look cheap, I have rewritten it so Delphine gets a heftier upfront payment and a credit line with the Guild. Which also means I can stop worrying people will start to wonder how she's financing all this...


	33. Dragonslayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The questlines end, as Delphine and Babette confront Titus Mede, and up in Sovngarde, Cicero goes to meet his destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have had a somewhat rough week, so the chapter goes up early. Be warned, the Cicero in Sovngarde bits made me cry writing them. Happy tears, but tears nonetheless. For those of you worried about the little guy's mental state - this is where he starts healing.

Wind buffeted him and lightning flashed around him in a vivid purple sky and Cicero was falling, falling, plummeting through time and space, cold chilling him to the marrow. Adrift on the currents of time, like a Dov? Perhaps. It was just a shame Cicero could not glide like one.

Then the light was so bright he couldn't see at all, and then he was sprawled on the ground, in the mouth of a cave, with what looked like the night sky outside. Cicero lay still, getting his breath back. That had been intense. Finally, he staggered to his feet and made his way out, curious to see what awaited him.

It could have been a Skyrim landscape, a mountain valley filled with mist and a great hall on the hill in the distance. Could have been... but a look at the sky told him this wasn't Skyrim. Not even Nirn. No sun, no moons, no stars, just what looked like a tunnel rising up to a source of light like nothing Cicero had ever seen. It made him feel dizzy just looking at it, so he hastily dropped his eyes. Focus on the ground, he told himself. Sweet, solid ground.

It seemed to work. Slowly, he felt the tension start to ease, and a feeling of the most profound peace settled over him. It was all right. Everything was going to be all right. Delphine had cast him out, but it didn't matter. He was cut off from the Night Mother, but that didn't matter either. Someone would look after her. Nothing of his old life really mattered any more. He flexed his shoulders, ironing the tension out and shaking his head. So this was Sovngarde. He'd imagined a load of drunken Nords quaffing mead and singing tunelessly. He'd not been prepared for anything so peaceful and beautiful. A wave of laughter began to build inside, welling up until Cicero was filled completely, and then he let it out, cackling and shrieking with delight, laughing and laughing a fool's laugh, a madman's laugh, or maybe just the joy of a man who'd finally come home.

Finally, he dried his eyes, the laughter dying away. He didn't belong here, he knew that really. This was the Nord home, it wasn't for the likes of him. Not one of the Night Mother's children. Not poor Cicero, no. And yet it felt so welcoming... So maybe he'd dreamed the whole thing and he wasn't really Cicero. His old life did feel like a dream. Slowly he took the jester hat from his head, staring at it in confusion. Who was he then, if not the Fool of Hearts? He wasn't sure, although he was sure he should remember. Frowning, he folded the hat up and pocketed it. It would come back to him. In the mean time, if he wasn't really Cicero, he didn't really need the hat.

In the distance he heard a dragon's cry and saw a familiar silhouette in the mist. _Alduin._ A cruel smile crossed Cicero's face as he recalled why he'd come. Still a job to do. He would make his way to that hall in the distance first, find out what was going on, see if he could get a bit of help from these allegedly brave and honourable Nord warriors. And after that... he had a World-Eater to kill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Who is it?” Motierre snapped, not even bothering to look up from the letter he was writing. “I gave strict orders I wasn't to be...” A leather-clad hand slammed on to the desk in front of him, and Motierre's voice trailed off as he looked up into the cold blue eyes of the Breton woman who had first taken the contract from him. “...disturbed.”

“Emperor Titus Mede II.” The assassin's voice was colder than death itself and Motierre could only be thankful there wasn't a contract out on him. “Where is he?”

“I heard you were dead,” Motierre breathed. “That your Sanctuary... that Maro had found out somehow and killed you all – we could see the smoke from here... Please, you mustn't think I had anything to do with that! I swear, I want him dead as much as you, I didn't say anything to Maro, I promise!”

“I know,” the woman replied, faintest hint of a smile on her face, and behind her Motierre could see a young girl with amber eyes watching him from the doorway, regarding him like he was some sort of tasty snack. Shivering, he turned back to the blonde warrior, who was clearly in charge.

“The Emperor,” she repeated. “Where is he.”

“Where is...” Motierre felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he realised why she was here. “You mean, after everything, you'll still honour the contract?”

She nodded, looking surprised that he'd even think otherwise. “Of course! We are the Dark Brotherhood, not some ragtag bunch of mercenaries. Did you really think Maro had wiped us out, or that there was only one Sanctuary in Skyrim?”

Motierre could have kissed her, but somehow he doubted that would result in anything but his own death, contract notwithstanding. 

“But this is outstanding news! This is... this is unbelievable! I thought... never mind. Yes, yes, he's still in Skyrim, but not for long. He's on his ship, the Katariah, moored in Solitude Inlet. If you make haste, you can probably sneak on board and catch him there. But you must hurry! With Maro dead and an actual attempt against his life having happened, he's not likely to linger.”

“Nor will we,” the Breton woman promised, vicious smile on her face. “Come on, sister. We rest for a few hours, then we're off to Solitude. We've got a job to finish.”

She turned and left the room, the girl with the hungry eyes in tow. Motierre breathed a silent sigh of relief to see them gone. When he'd first met her, she'd seemed calm and professional enough, with only a slight hint of nerves about her. Now she seemed like a changed woman, driven by an obsession he didn't even want to speculate about, and with a darkness inside her that could have swallowed him whole if she'd had a mind to. Maybe it was the Sanctuary burning. Maybe it was the failure of their first attempt. Maybe it was something else entirely. But something in the last few months had changed her from merely competent to outright frightening. Motierre didn't know what had caused the change and he didn't want to. All he knew was that somewhere along the line, this woman had turned into a true-born killer, and that Emperor Titus Mede was as good as dead already.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero ran through the mist, laughing and giggling as he went. He could hear Alduin, occasionally felt the ground tremble as he landed nearby and fed, the dying scream of some unlucky soul heralding yet another victory for the World-Eater. But he never approached Cicero.

“Scared of poor Cicero, are you, Alduin?” Cicero giggled. “You should be!” But this infernal mist made it impossible to actually see the beast, and even his Clear Skies Shout did not dissipate it for long.

Finally, the path he was following led out into a clear space, the great hall looming up ahead of him and a whalebone bridge crossing the chasm that separated it from the rest of Sovngarde.

Guarding the bridge was the biggest warrior Cicero had ever seen, bigger than most Nords, easily seven foot tall and broad-chested, and carrying a battleaxe that was probably taller than Cicero was. Clearly the door guard. Still, he'd managed to beat up Borkul the Beast without even any weapons. Cicero was fairly certain he could manage this one too. Dropping into a crouch, he began to sneak up on the guard. He almost made it. The big warrior didn't even move as Cicero snuck up, creeping past and sliding behind the warrior's back, making for the bridge. Nearly there, almost made it...

“Little thief, where are you going?” the warrior asked casually. “Do not try and go any further, the bridge will collapse under you and send you to your death if you set foot on it without my permission.”

Damn it. Cicero got to his feet and turned to face the warrior, not willing to find out if he was actually telling the truth. It was a long way down from that bridge.

“I'm not a thief,” said Cicero, folding his arms and glaring at the warrior. “I'm an assassin.”

“Neither are welcome in Shor's Hall, and you cannot kill what is already dead. Try again, Dark Brother.”

“You misunderstand,” Cicero purred. “Cicero isn't here to kill anyone in Shor's Hall. Cicero is here for Alduin.”

“For Alduin?” The warrior raised an eyebrow. “Now who would hire the Dark Brotherhood to end the World-Eater? There is not enough coin in the world to pay your fee for that, and no ordinary mortal could accomplish such a thing.”

“Akatosh hired me,” Cicero heard himself saying, not having fully realised it before but knowing it to be true even as he spoke. “Akatosh gave me the skill, gave me the power, gifted poor Cicero with the dragon blood, made him more than a lowly assassin so he could do this thing. In return, Cicero asks only for home and family, for the Brotherhood to have the status it once did even if he is no longer part of it. He does not care if he dies doing this – just that sweet Delphine can lead his siblings to glory. Cicero is Dovahkiin. Cicero will do this or die trying.”

“Dovahkiin,” the warrior repeated, finally smiling. “At last. I've been expecting you. I am Tsun, guardian of the bridge to Shor's Hall. This is the final resting-place of the valiant dead. But none may enter here without passing the warrior's test.”

Cicero had a sinking feeling that he knew what the warrior's test would involve. He wasn't wrong. Tsun unshouldered his axe and raised it in order to strike. Fortunately, the bigger they were, the slower they usually were too, and Tsun was no exception. As the axe fell, Cicero was no longer there, he was already dancing, twirling and pirouetting as blows fell, each one narrowly missing him. Cicero had his own weapons out, Daedric dagger in one hand, ebony one in the other, the short reach perfect for him as he slipped under Tsun's arms. It took all Cicero's strength to drive them in, but he did it, one blade driving into Tsun's kidneys, up and under the ribcage, while the other forced its way in just above Tsun's collarbone at the base of the neck. Blood spurted out, a mortal would have been dead as Cicero tried vainly to pull his daggers back out. But they were stuck fast and Cicero cursed as Tsun crashed to the ground, motionless and with Cicero's prized daggers stuck in him. Cicero had loved those blades. How was he supposed to replace them now?

Then he heard laughter coming from Tsun and backed off, stunned as the giant man ripped both daggers out of his body as easily as pulling a knife out of butter, and got to his feet, the wounds healing. To Cicero's even greater surprise, he wiped the blades on the grass and presented them, hilt first, back to Cicero.

“Well done,” Tsun laughed heartily. “A different technique to what I'm used to, but it suits you. Here, your weapons. Go through, little assassin Dragonborn. I'm very curious to know how Alduin's going to react to you.”

Cicero didn't fully understand exactly what was going on here, not why Tsun manifestly wasn't dead even after two killing blows, nor why, having survived, he was congratulating Cicero rather than throwing him into the chasm or tearing him limb from limb, but Cicero wasn't going to argue. Taking his daggers back and sheathing them, he ran for the bridge before Tsun changed his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It took Cicero some time to cross the bridge, mostly because he kept clinging to the spine and moving at a snail's pace until he finally reached the other side. Who on earth had approved this design, Cicero had no idea, but they needed a good stabbing in Cicero's opinion. This was no way to build a bridge, not when Dragonborns with a fear of heights needed to get across it. Still, he made it eventually, and darted up the steps to the door, slipping inside.

A Nord warrior, not quite as big as Tsun but big enough in Cicero's eyes, was waiting to greet him as he entered.

“So you've finally come!” he laughed. “Cicero the Dragonborn. We've heard a lot about you. We've heard that no foe can withstand you, that you're like a terror from Oblivion itself. Is that true? You don't look quite like we'd expected.”

“Would the mighty Nord warrior like to find out for himself?” Cicero asked tersely. “Cicero's faced bigger and more frightening than you to get here.”

The Nord laughed, more gently this time. “No, no, I will wait for you to face the World-Eater to see your true prowess. You made it past Tsun, that was no mean feat. Welcome to the Hall of Shor. I am Ysgramor, First King of Skyrim. We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival – many of us have been itching to fight Alduin ourselves, but Shor forbade us until you came in person to finish the job. Now... now maybe we can have some entertainment!”

There was a general roar of approval from the table behind him, where many tall and proud Nords of both sexes, all armed to the teeth, had raised their tankards in a salute. Cicero hoped they wouldn't be offended if he turned them down in favour of someone sober. His eyes travelled past Ysgramor, down the table, until they fell on someone different from the others. Not a Nord. Barely reaching the shoulder of the big, burly men on either side of her. Clad in steel armour with a sword at her side but looking far too delicate to actually fight, although Cicero knew better, far better. She had dark eyes, like his. Pale skin, like his. Long red hair, like his. Exactly like his.

Dazed, Cicero walked slowly over to her. She'd not taken her eyes off him from the moment he'd walked in and as he approached, she got to her feet and advanced to meet him.

“Cicero is very sorry to trouble you, madam,” said Cicero, as politely as possible in order to conceal the fact that he was about ready to explode at the mere sight of her. “It's just that you look almost exactly like his dear departed mother. But she couldn't possibly be here, not here in Sovngarde, this is the Nord afterlife and she was an Imperial, like me...”

“Yes,” Stelmaria Di Rosso whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Imperial, like you. And Dragonborn... like you. I died in battle and ended up here. Cicero... Cicero, my boy, my brave, handsome boy, look at you, gods, look at you, you're so tall!”

Only she could possibly ever say that to him and mean it. She was a couple of inches shorter than him, Sithis, how could she be shorter than him, she'd always been so much taller and imposing when he was a boy.

“Mother,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke her cheek, not even sure if this was real or just some hallucination and any minute now she'd turn into a Draugr and try to eat him. But her skin felt warm and soft and real, and then she was in his arms, holding him tight and crying his name out, and it was her, it was really her, his mother, his own dear sweet mother.

“Mother!” he gasped, clinging on to her in case she disappeared again. “Mother, mother, mother, it's you, it's you, I never thought I'd see you again! You died, you died, you left me, left poor Cicero all alone, I missed you so much, I...” Then he was crying himself, not even caring who saw him by this point, clinging on to her, fingers in her hair as he sobbed thirty years worth of grief and loneliness out on her shoulder as she rubbed his back and whispered soothing words into his ear.

“My boy... my poor boy... poor Cicero, poor sweet Cicero, it's all right, it's all going to be all right, my dear boy, dear sweet child, my little Cici, I'm here, Mama's here, it's all right Cici love, it's all going to be just fine...”

“Mama,” Cicero whispered, finally loosening his grip and letting her lead him to the end of the long table, where several warriors tactfully vacated their seats so the two of them could have a bit of privacy. She was smiling at him through the tears as they held hands, and Cicero couldn't stop smiling either. His mother. His strong, beautiful mother. The one he loved more than life itself.

“Cicero,” she breathed back. “Sweet Cicero. My little boy. All grown up and going to fight the World-Eater. Gods, Cicero, how long has it been? How old are you?”

“Forty, I think,” said Cicero. “You're my mother, you remember my birthday, don't you?”

“Second of Sun's Dawn, 161 4E,” Stelmaria whispered. “Born on Pelagius' Day. Yes, you're forty, sweet Kynareth, you're forty years old, how??”

“I didn't die,” said Cicero, not sure what else to say. “Poor Cicero survived, all on his own, when no one else did. So I'm forty now. Just like you'd be an old woman now, if you'd lived.”

“Thirty five when I had you, forty five when I died, I'd be in my seventies now,” said Stelmaria, wiping a tear away. “Mara's mercy, you're only five years younger now than me. You can't be, you can't be, in my head you're still that same naughty little troublemaker you always were.”

“Oh, Cicero still is a naughty little troublemaker,” Cicero giggled. “The mischief just has tougher punishments now.”

“Now that doesn't surprise me,” Stelmaria laughed. She smiled at him, eyes brimming with pride. “Oh, but look at you, you look like a proper warrior!”

“I'm not,” said Cicero. He never was able to lie to her, she could always tell. “I'm an assassin. I kill people for money.”

There was a pause, and Stelmaria squeezed his hand. “I know,” she said softly. “I cried for three days straight when they inducted you. Cried even harder when they made you Keeper.”

“Don't,” Cicero whispered, his heart breaking from the guilt and disappointment. “You'll set me off crying again. I'm so sorry, Mama.”

“Don't be,” said Stelmaria softly. “It was my fault. I forgot I wasn't a Legionnaire any more and tried to defend my city instead of you. I should have taken you and fled when the Dominion were first sighted.”

“You never made me kill,” said Cicero in response. He'd never regretted joining the Brotherhood, never regretted any of it – not until now, when he saw the pain in his mother's eyes. “Don't blame yourself, I went quite willingly into the Night Mother's arms, I assure you. I'm not a good man, Mama.”

“Would you have needed a Night Mother if you'd still had your own?” Stelmaria asked, and Cicero didn't even begin to know how to answer that one, so he didn't.

“I've got to kill Alduin, Mother,” said Cicero, rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. “I've got to kill a dragon. Save the world before Alduin eats it. And he'll start here, won't he? Eat everyone here in Sovngarde. Eat you.”

Stelmaria nodded. “Yes he will. But he fears you, my son. Fears my Cicero.” The disappointment of earlier had died entirely, and as she spoke, Stelmaria had never looked so proud. “My boy, my little Cici, my strong handsome son. So fierce, even the World-Eater's scared of him.” Her face shifted, curving into a cruel smile that mirrored his own. “My son, the legendary Dragonborn. Slayer of Alduin.”

Cicero lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. “Mother, I shall butcher him like a hog and present you with his head as a trophy. No one eats my mother. No one.”

Stelmaria got to her feet, taking his hand and leading him after her. “Sweet boy. You always were so very devoted. Come, my son. There are some people you ought to meet.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

There were three of them. Nords, as expected. All towering over him and Stelmaria, even the woman. With a shock, Cicero realised he knew them, had seen them before. Paarthurnax's first students, the Tongues of old. The first Dragonborns. Felldir, Hakon and Gormlaith.

“You, I know you, I saw you in the Elder Scroll!” he cried. “You taught me Dragonrend!”

“You learnt it from us,” said Felldir, appraising him coolly. “That is not the same thing, Red Dragonborn.”

“Oh, don't be so hostile,” Gormlaith laughed. “You cannot deny the man is talented. Why, he even has a sense of honour. He spared Paarthurnax after all.” She turned to look at him, smiling, although there was a certain cruelty in those dark eyes of hers. “Your son's turned out well, Stelmaria. It shall be a joy to fight alongside him. He's a credit to the line.”

“She's our many times removed ancestress,” Stelmaria explained. “She had a son too – he was being raised in secret near what's now Windhelm. No one knows his name, but he passed the dragon blood on and in time it came to you and me.”

Cicero looked again, and he could see it now – same eyes, same smile, same delight in battle. Yes, he could see it. He looked up at her and smiled.

“Honoured to finally meet you, my ancestress. Am I to take it you wanted revenge against Alduin for ending your mortal life?”

“Not revenge exactly,” said Gormlaith. “Say rather I hate leaving a job unfinished.”

Cicero laughed in delight. A woman after his own heart. “I like her, Mother! She's like me.”

Stelmaria squeezed his hand, amused. Hakon didn't seem anything like so pleased.

“You're nothing like her. Gormlaith, he's a hardened murderer without a conscience.”

“But he's Dragonborn,” Felldir put in. “He was able to learn Dragonrend when no one lived to teach him, and he was strong enough to send Alduin here. He is what we have. I don't see we have a choice.”

“No, you don't,” said Stelmaria fiercely. “He is here and he is strong and brave and willing to fight, and he is my son. He will do this thing for you, and if you will not help him, he and I will fight alone.” She swept the three with her coldest glare. They exchanged glances and nodded.

“Of course we join you,” said Felldir. “Together we can achieve what one alone could not.”

“Death to the World-Eater!” Gormlaith cried, racing for the door. Hakon was not far behind, and Felldir brought up the rear, leaving Cicero with Stelmaria.

“I suppose I should go and kill him then,” said Cicero hesitantly, suddenly feeling acutely nervous. This was it. The final battle in which he'd been planning to heroically end his life. Suicide by dragon. Except now it was upon him, Cicero realised he didn't want to die.

Stelmaria placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “We,” she said quietly. “We are going to go and kill him.” She smiled at the confusion in his eyes. “What, you think I'm going to let my little boy go up against that monster on his own? Certainly not. I've been learning the Thu'um while I've been here. I might have died too early to face dragons in life – I'm not going to miss out in the afterlife.”

“You've definitely been here too long,” said Cicero, but he couldn't stop smiling. If he died, at least he'd have his mother with him. He held her tight for the longest time, then let her go.

“Come on,” he told her, taking her arm. “Let's kill someone.”

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Men screamed and men died, without ever really knowing what had killed them. They were the lucky ones. The unlucky ones saw a child's face with a demon's eyes, felt teeth in their neck or a poison dagger in their guts. Or they saw a ghost of the past bearing down on them, a Blade with her face hidden behind black ebony and a katana blade that swished through the air and brought death before they even knew they were bleeding.

No mercy. No quarter. Just blood and death to whoever got in their way and a few who weren't. The sailors died quickly at least, from a poison blade or an arrow from the shadows. The Oculatus weren't so lucky. They got Vampiric Drain from a distance or toyed with at katana's length then disembowelled and left to bleed.

The captain at least died well, his throat slashed from behind by Babette while Delphine kept watch. Grabbing the ship's master key, Babette rejoined her Listener, handing the key over.

“Now where?” Babette whispered. 

“Other end of the ship,” Delphine whispered. “There's a huge state bedroom that way.”

Delphine had never been on board the Katariah before – well, not this ship anyway. But the Blades had had plans of the original and a replica at Cloud Ruler Temple for training purposes and later just as a curiosity. This ship was about forty years old but still in good condition. It was just a shame no one had bothered to change the layout in all the Katariah's various incarnations. Sloppy. Very sloppy. Delphine was taking full advantage.

Finally they made it to said master bedroom, having seen off a few more Oculatus agents along the way. The lower decks of the Katariah were swimming in blood. Delphine pitied whoever had to clean this up. Maybe they'd just burn the whole ship and send it off to float to its doom in the Sea of Ghosts. Far too good an end for Mede, but it had a certain poetry to it.

“This it?” Babette whispered. Delphine nodded, unlocking the door, her breath catching in her throat. This was it. Time to kill the Emperor, fill her first ever contract for the Night Mother. She hoped Cicero was watching from Sovngarde. He'd be so proud.

Pushing the door open, she strode in, Babette at her heels, ready to close the door behind her and watch her back.

The room was huge, bigger than the entire Sleeping Giant. Sitting behind a desk at the other end was an old man in fine robes, and this time Delphine knew him. The Emperor himself. He glanced up, seemingly unbothered, then he looked at her armour and inhaled sharply. 

“A Blade still lives,” he breathed, actually starting to smile. “One of you survived. You don't know how pleased that makes me, madam.”

“It really shouldn't,” said Delphine, pulling her helmet off and shaking her hair out. “This isn't a social call.”

Titus Mede laughed. “No, I suppose not. I must say, I'm surprised. I thought it was the Dark Brotherhood. To realise the whole thing's been a revenge conspiracy by the Blades – well, it's poetic justice, I suppose. I am very sorry, you know. I didn't want to disband you, you were a very valuable network of agents.”

“But not your agents,” said Delphine, standing before the desk. “Is that why you were so willing to hand us over? You knew we'd serve the Dragonborn before anything and anyone else, including you so you wanted us out of the way.”

“It wasn't like that,” said Titus, his voice heavy. “I don't expect you to believe me. If I had had a choice... but alas, I did not. It was necessary, so very necessary. I am sorry.”

Delphine just smiled, looking sadly at him. So this was what closure felt like. She'd heard of the concept but never really felt it before. Here he was, the one who sold out the Blades... and she felt sorry for him. Weak, old, vulnerable... and about to die. But not quite yet.

“Let me tell you a story,” she said softly. “About a little boy in the Imperial City. No siblings, never knew his father, just him and his mother living quietly and anonymously like so many do. Until the Dominion sacked the City and butchered his mother in front of his eyes. He'd adored his mother. Oh, he'd had a dark side anyway, but something broke inside him when she died. He never got over it. Ended up in an orphanage – ended up in trouble. Killed a man aged fifteen, and the Dark Brotherhood found him before the guards did. The Night Mother replaced the mother he'd lost, and he never looked back. The boy became a man, became a hardened murderer.”

“That's a sad story, but why are you telling me this-” Titus Mede began, before Delphine raised a finger to his lips.

“Oh but he wasn't ordinary, no,” she whispered. “His mother was ex-Legion, a fiercely talented warrior. She was known to the Blades, although she always refused our help. She was Dragonborn, Titus. She was Dragonborn and this little boy was her heir. If we'd not been disbanded, we'd have found him and taken him in. We'd have made him a Blade and his dragon blood could have been used for good, turned against the Thalmor maybe. Used to protect the Empire. But we were hunted ourselves and the safest thing we could do for him was to leave him alone, ensure none of us led the Thalmor to him. So the Dark Brotherhood got him instead. All thanks to you. Eminence.” She spat the last word at him. Titus Mede had his head in his hands, his head bent.

“So that's why you're here,” he said, his voice hollow. “The Blades have joined the Dark Brotherhood, following their Dragonborn even into the Void itself. It will swallow you whole, you know.” He looked up finally, resolute even in the face of his own death. “You think you could have controlled him? Really? Turned a nature like that to your own purposes? You fool. No one can control dragon fire. He would have turned on you and burned you for trying. It might still happen. The Dark Brotherhood are merciless, even to their own. What will their leaders say when they find out you're loyal to the Dragonborn, not them?”

Delphine just smiled, pitying the poor doomed man.

“I am the leader of the Dark Brotherhood,” she laughed, watching the horror in his eyes with a cruel delight. “I hear the Night Mother's words. I'm her Listener. She chose me to serve her, and the Dragonborn fell to his knees for me when he realised. If we burn, we burn together. If the Void takes me, he will be waiting. And if the Dragonborn vanished from this world, I would still be the Night Mother's, and I will still lead this Brotherhood to glory.”

Titus Mede looked away, his eyes shadowed. “Then you had best get on with it,” he sighed. “If the Blades have fallen so far, who am I to stop you? I must die and you must kill me, that is the way of it between Emperors and assassins, yes? In a way, I'm rather glad it actually is the Dark Brotherhood. No one can stop the Dark Brotherhood, I told Maro that. I merely have one last request, a favour for an old man. Would you care to listen, Listener?”

Delphine inclined her head. She might as well.

“Assuming this is a contract and not your own personal vendetta, presumably someone set this machine in motion. Many wanted me dead, many will profit by it. But only one ordered it. When you've been compensated... I'd consider it a personal favour if you could kill him for me. Meet betrayal with betrayal. Will you do that for me?”

Delphine shrugged. “Perhaps, old man. Perhaps. Now, hold still. Let's not keep the Dread Father waiting.”

Before Titus Mede could react, Delphine's katana pierced his chest. Titus reached for the wound, blood dribbling out of his mouth, then his hand fell to his side and he fell back, dead.

Delphine staggered back, shaking. She'd just killed the Emperor. Talos forgive her. Not just the mother of murderers but one of them now.

Babette was tugging at her arm. “Listener?” she said softly. “Are you alright?”

Delphine nodded, realising the shaking was giving way to delight and that she felt like she was about to burst out laughing.

“Yes, yes, I'm fine,” she gasped. “Better than fine. We did it, Babette, we did it!” She swept Babette up in her arms, spun her round and hugged her. Babette laughed in delight.

“We are the best!” Babette cried. “Oh man, Vicente would be so proud right now.”

“Vicente?” Delphine asked.

“My sire,” said Babette. “I was a little girl in an orphanage and walked in on him draining the life out of the headmistress. He couldn't bring himself to kill me and turned me instead, taking me back to his Sanctuary. It was much nicer than that horrible orphanage. Stayed there until about ten years before the Oblivion Crisis, when I moved to Falkreath. Good thing too, or I wouldn't be here now.” She looked up, eyes too bright. “We should get going, yes? Before anyone else turns up.”

Delphine nodded, making for the door that opened out on to a private balcony. She glanced at the katana in Titus Mede's chest and thought about taking it with her – but decided against it. There were many other katanas back at Karthspire, and leaving it would send a message to even the dimmest about the perils of screwing over the Blades. Taking Babette in her arms, she dived into the inlet and swam for the shore. Time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero finally staggered off the whalebone bridge, Stelmaria not far behind him. She wasn't looking much better than he was. Trust the Nords to design something with the assumption that everyone using it would be a strapping six-footer with no sense of fear.

“I hate that bridge,” Stelmaria gasped, stopping to catch her breath. 

“Likewise,” said Cicero. He looked to where the three Nords and Tsun were waiting for them. “Well? Any ideas on how to flush the coward out of that mist? Cicero tried Clear Skies but it didn't work for long.”

“On your own, no,” said Felldir. “But all of us together... that might do it.”

Cicero squeezed his mother's hand and walked with her to where the others were waiting. All together, they Shouted.

The mists cleared... right up until Alduin Shouted back and the fog rolled back in. They tried again, and each time Alduin just Shouted the mists back. A third and then a fourth... and the mists did not return. Cicero smirked to himself. That would show him. He glanced at Stelmaria, who still looked nervous as anything.

“It is all right, Mother,” he said calmly. “Cicero has faced dragons before, they are not so tough really.” 

Stelmaria didn't answer. She was staring at the sky. A familiar roar echoed around Sovngarde, a black shadow flew overhead, and then the world exploded in fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero had long lost track of how long this had been going on for. All he knew was that he'd Shouted himself hoarse, he'd shot arrow after arrow to no avail. Alduin was definitely weaker, but still Not Dead.

There was smoke everywhere, he was coughing constantly in between Shouts and he had a horrible feeling the suicide by dragon plan was going to work after all. Rocks rained from the sky, fire was everywhere and his armour could only hold some of it off. He could hear the others Shouting, but couldn't see them or Alduin, and that worried him.

“Mother,” he whispered. “Where are you?”

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!” he heard a woman Shout, and it sounded like Gormlaith. Alduin roared and breathed a jet of fire at someone, and then the ground shook as he crashed into it, ploughing a furrow into the soil and coming to rest right behind Cicero.

Cicero spun round, swords in hand. This was it then. The moment of truth. Live or die. Win or lose. Right here, right now. Easy, right?

“YOL TOOR SHUL!” a woman screamed, breathing fire all over Alduin's right hand side. Stelmaria burst out of the smoke, ran forward, leapt nimbly on to the dragon's side and began to hack away with her sword in one hand, holding on with the other. Alduin howled in rage, writhing, trying to dislodge her.

“You leave my boy alone, damn you!” she shrieked at it. Cicero felt himself blushing. She never normally swore in front of him. Cicero sheathed his swords and began firing a few arrows off. Alduin roared, twisting away, and then one swipe of his claws caught Stelmaria and sent her flying in a spray of blood.

“NOOOOO!!!!!” Cicero screamed. Dragonbane was in his hand again and without even thinking about it, all capability for anything resembling rational thought dissolving into a red miasma of rage and hate and old wounds slashed open again, he'd sprung forward, leaping on to Alduin.

The dragon was ready this time, rolling on to his back so Cicero couldn't get a purchase on his head or back, but that didn't matter. Cicero landed on Alduin's stomach, stabbing away with Dragonbane, heedless of claws that raked his side, shredding his armour and leaving long scratches. This thing had hurt his mother and Cicero didn't care about anything now except slaughtering the beast. Dawnbreaker in one hand, Dragonbane in the other, he stabbed and slashed, hardly pausing for breath until a sweep of Alduin's claws sent him flying as well. 

Cicero crashed into the ground, knowing he was bleeding and his strength was failing. He was in pain and he couldn't move his arm properly, he had no idea where Dawnbreaker had gone (Eola was going to kill him), and while he wanted to get up and continue the fight, his legs weren't obeying him.

He managed to sit up, trying to see what Alduin was doing. The World-Eater was bleeding, blood pouring from deep wounds in his chest, his wings shredded. Cicero took one last breath and Shouted.

“YOL TOOR SHUL!”

Fire blazed from Cicero, engulfing Alduin. The dragon howled in agony, screaming in Dovah.

“I am immortal! You cannot kill me!”

“All things must die,” Cicero whispered, coughing in the smoke-filled air. “Hail... Sithis!”

Alduin screamed in pain, orange cracks appearing all over him as he started to burn. Seconds later, he was blazing with fire, black and red, smoke pouring him off him, and then he exploded. Cicero ducked as black ash flew everywhere and Alduin dissolved in pain and fire, burning away until there was nothing left.

Cicero coughed, the noise loud in the sudden silence.

“Mother?” he choked. “Mother??”

No reply. Cicero felt the tears started to fall. Not again. He'd only just found her after thirty odd years, he couldn't have lost her again, surely?

Then someone was there, but it wasn't her, it was Gormlaith, and Tsun towering above her.

“Mother,” he whispered. 

“Do not fear for her, she cannot die again,” said Tsun calmly. “Your own injuries are severe, Dragonborn.”

“Where is she?” Cicero gasped, not caring about anything else, not caring about how cold he was suddenly feeling or how dark it seemed to be getting. He was in pain and frightened and he wanted his mother to be alive, or here anyway. “Mama, please, where are you??”

Gormlaith stroked his hair sadly. “Dragonborn,” she said softly. “Cicero Dragonborn, you've done so well. You just saved the world.”

“Mama,” Cicero whispered, reaching out for Gormlaith's hand if no one else was there. “Delphine. You must tell... Listener... tell her I did it, filled... contract... where is Mama... Mama?”

“Rest now,” said Tsun, his voice rumbling in Cicero's ear. “Close your eyes, Dragonborn. It is done. It is done, and you are a hero now. You're one of us.”

“Mama,” Cicero whispered, closing his eyes. “Listener...” Darkness claimed him and he knew no more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

General Tullius stared at the sight before him as the Oculatus agents finished their story, all looking rather nervous. With both Maros dead, and all the senior Oculatus agents having been either butchered in the storm that had laid the Katariah to waste or slaughtered in the fury that had levelled their Dragon Bridge headquarters, all that was left were junior agents who'd been left here in Solitude. With no one above the rank of Quaestor or whatever the Oculatus equivalent was, Tullius had simply absorbed them all into the Legion until someone with any authority could come from Cyrodiil to sort out the mess. And the mess was considerable. An entire ship, massacred. A town terrorised, although very few townsfolk had been harmed, just the Oculatus and a few guards.

Worst of all, an Emperor dead with no heir. Tullius could only guess what that might mean. Chaos. Civil war. The Dominion deciding to invade, possibly. This was beyond bad. This was a scene out of nightmare, and the evidence he'd been presented with was disturbing to even think about. 

“All of you, leave us. Not you, Legate.”

The Oculatus agents left immediately, relieved to be dismissed. The other Legionnaires in the room did likewise, leaving him alone with his right-hand woman.

“This is bad, isn't it, sir?” she said quietly, indicating the sword and the burnt but still legible roll of paper the agents had brought.

“Very,” Tullius agreed. “I had my suspicions about that armour of his, but even I couldn't have guessed they were planning this.”

The paper had been damaged by fire, not just the fire at Dragon Bridge, but the fire at Falkreath where they'd found it. But what was there was legible – a time line detailing a few high-profile but unsolved murders and the culprits. Vittoria Vici's murder. Thonar Silver-Blood and Madanach's jailbreak. Calix-something of Windhelm. Arane-something-ith. Grelod the Kind and Nelacar of Winterhold, both known to have died violently in the recent past. A jester mentioned and Cicero, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. All this found in a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. Then there was a Blades katana, covered in the Emperor's blood, found shoved through the man's chest. Last time Tullius had seen it, it had been worn by the Dragonborn's companion, Delphine the ex-Blade. Now here it was, the sword that had killed an Emperor. 

“The Dragonborn's a Dark Brotherhood assassin, quite possibly their leader if this is to be believed,” said Tullius. “The Blades are helping him and one of them just assassinated the Emperor that declared their order illegal. Yes, Rikke, it's bad.”

Rikke sank into a chair, looking devastated. “The Dragonborn... surely not,” she breathed. “It doesn't make sense, if he is the Dark Brotherhood's leader, why would they write it down for anyone to read? The last I was aware, the Brotherhood were led by a woman named Astrid.”

“Yes, and dragons were legends and there were Nine Divines,” said Tullius. “Things change, Rikke. Care to tell me why the advance runners that brought this parchment to us are the only ones to come back from Falkreath, and yet the place burned sure enough? The Jarl says his men found the place caved-in with carts missing and a few dead agents lying around – also a few things stolen from town that night. Healing potions, medical supplies, fur blankets. Things you'd want if you had to make a long journey with casualties.”

“Can't have been the Oculatus, they'd have requisitioned them,” said Rikke. She looked up at Tullius, guessing all too well what he meant. “Maro had their Sanctuary burned, this is their revenge.”

“Oh, I think the Emperor was a dead man anyway,” said Tullius. “I think there was a pre-existing contract there. Burning the Dragon Bridge outpost and killing quite as many Oculatus agents as they did, that was revenge. They have another Sanctuary, Rikke. They have the Dragonborn and an ex-Blade and by now, they'll be very wealthy if they weren't before. They'll have lost people, but not everyone. Meanwhile I have a civil war dragging on here, tying up half the Legion while Cyrodiil will no doubt rip itself apart while all the various candidates for Emperor fight it out, that's if the Dominion don't decide to take advantage. The Empire's doomed, Rikke.”

“No,” Rikke breathed. “No, there has to be a way, General. There must be. Are... are you going to hunt them down for this?”

Tullius actually laughed at this. “Hunt them down? I wouldn't even know where to start looking. Besides, I'm older than you. I remember the Brotherhood of a few decades ago. Implacable. Unstoppable. Death itself. Now they're back and they still know how to get the job done, it would appear. My loyalty is to the Empire, Rikke, not any one Emperor, especially not a dead one.”

“So what are you planning to do then – no.” Rikke was shaking her head, looking appalled. “Surely you aren't going to...”

“They're scum, Rikke, trash, outlaws, murderers,” said Tullius, staring down at the blade that had killed an Emperor. “But they're extremely capable scum. I'm not planning to wipe them out. I'm going to hire them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wipes tear away* OMG that was an amazing chapter to write. Was it good for you too, readers? The Babette history was added for the lovely anonymous reviewer who left me nice comments about fifteen chapters ago and requested a bit of backstory on her. Here you are, it took me a while but I managed it!
> 
> Stelmaria - bit of canon-stretching to get her to Sovngarde, but I wanted emotional resonance for Cicero and who's he more likely to get it from, the three Nord heroes or his sorely missed mother? So glad I included her, I actually cried writing their reunion. I hope it worked for you too.


	34. The Forsworn Conspiracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tullius wants the Brotherhood to sort out the war for him, but Delphine's never been one to do things by halves, especially when her plan has the potential to make Eola very very happy. Meanwhile, Cicero is recovering in Sovngarde thanks in large part to a friend he didn't even know he'd made...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allusions to someone abusing his power and half the young women in the Reach - language may be a bit triggery, but don't worry, he'll get his. A bit of lady-on-lady snogging towards the end.
> 
> Not much Cicero in this one again, I do apologise. Don't worry, the next chapter is going up right after this one and it has LOADS of Cicero plus a Lucien. As the story nears its end, so I'm speeding up the updates.
> 
> ETA: So I did a rewrite! Specifically, added a few extra scenes in which Delphine breaks the news to Madanach as to what she's dragged him into now, and redid the start of the conference - no need to have a summary of Madanach's feelings and opinions if I already wrote them, is there?

Astrid stared at the chest containing more septims than she'd ever seen in her life in one place.

“You asked for half. Here it is,” said Delphine. “I gave one thousand to Babette for helping me, the other nine thousand is all there. Your weregild, as promised. Three thousand for each one lost.”

“Nazir?” she asked faintly. 

“Arnbjorn and I counted it twice, Astrid,” said Nazir. Arnbjorn nodded in confirmation. “It's all there.”

“I don't even know what to say,” said Astrid, very glad she was sitting down or her legs would have given out. She was getting better slowly and was out of bed now for short periods, but still was nothing like up to full strength just yet. She was determined to try though. “I didn't think you'd actually do it...”

“Didn't think I'd kill him, or didn't think I'd pay you? I keep my promises, Astrid,” said Delphine, sipping her tea. 

“Either,” Astrid admitted. “I keep waiting for the knife in my back, if I'm honest.”

“If it keeps you honest, then keep waiting,” said Delphine. “But I'm not planning to double-cross you, Astrid. We're in a dangerous business and I can't promise there'll be no risk ever. But I'll do my best to deal fairly with you and yours and not put you in danger unnecessarily. I don't like seeing my Sanctuaries burned. It's a waste.”

“Talking of Sanctuaries,” Astrid purred. “You were going to look into building me a new one. Somewhere safe, out of the way but not too far from civilisation, nicely spacious, all the trimmings...”

“I can do better than that,” said Delphine, recalling Cicero's journals as he wrote enthusiastically of his first home in Skyrim. Now Nightcaller Temple had been cleared out, Dawnstar might actually be liveable. “There's an old Sanctuary in Dawnstar, you know it?”

“The Dawnstar Sanctuary?” Astrid asked, surprised. “I know of it, but no one's used it for over a century. The passphrase has been lost – we can't get in or I'd have considered it myself.”

“I know it,” said Delphine. “Or rather, Cicero did and he told me. It's where he was living before I met him. The Black Door will ask you what is life's greatest illusion. You reply 'Innocence, my Brother.' I don't know what state it's in, but it should fit your needs. Be warned, apparently there is some sort of troll living there too. Cicero never dealt with it for reasons best known to him, so I think you'll have to.”

“Not a problem,” Arnbjorn growled, cracking his knuckles. “Leave it to me.”

Delphine wasn't sure if it was wise to be so sanguine about a beast that had had Cicero too unnerved to tackle it, but Cicero at the time hadn't had armour or anything but a dagger to fight with, not to mention that he'd got a great deal braver in the time she'd known him. Still, it was Arnbjorn's problem now.

“Also, Eola tells me that next door, with an entrance in the Tower of the Dawn, is a place called Nightcaller Temple. Was sealed up for years, but not any more. Used to be a Temple to Vaermina, but I think you could reconsecrate it to Sithis if you wanted more space. Be warned – it'll be full of bodies. It's apparently got a very well kitted out Alchemy lab though, and there's beds and cooking gear. I'd loot it for supplies then seal the place up again for a few months until there's nothing left to rot. Here's the key.”

Astrid took it and passed it to Arnbjorn. “We'll check it out. Arnbjorn, Nazir, you two leave in the morning, investigate both places, sort out the troll and see if you can't make the place liveable. If we need to, we'll ask Delvin if he can help us out. He still owes me some money from the last thing I had him fence, and we can dip into this too.” She patted the chest. “Thank you, Delphine. It's more than I could have hoped for. And... I'm sorry. You're a better person than I gave you credit for, and a damn good leader. You won't have any further trouble from us. Keep sending the contracts and if there's anything you need us to assist with, you've only to ask.”

To Delphine's surprise, Astrid actually looked genuine in this. Maybe this was going to work out after all.

She left the others to it – Eola was already breaking out shots of juniper brandy and Delphine had the feeling it was going to be a long night for the younger Sanctuary members. She was getting a little too old for that sort of thing. 

Shutting her bedroom door behind her, she curled up at the Night Mother's feet.

“We've done it, Mother,” she whispered. “Killed an Emperor. I hope you're proud.”

_“Oh I am, child. Very much so. But your work isn't done yet. Someone else performed the Sacrament tonight.”_

“Did they now?” Motierre had been right. Business was going to boom after this. “Who was it?”

_“Take yourself to Castle Dour in Solitude. There you must speak with General Tullius.”_

“General Tullius.” Delphine looked up, unable to believe her ears. “As in... the military governor of Skyrim. He wants to hire us.”

_“Correct. Don't fear, child. It is a genuine contract. While you cannot count him as a friend exactly, this is not a trap.”_

Not a trap perhaps, but Delphine wasn't about to put herself in harm's way either. This one was going to require a little planning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

General Tullius drifted back into consciousness slowly. The bed was scratchier than he was used to and it was cold too, like no one had banked up the fires this morning. He opened his eyes.

This was not Castle Dour. The walls and ceiling were made of wood, he was lying on a single bed with fur underneath and straw tickling his nose, and dried blood on the walls indicated this place had seen death before. 

“Sleep well?” a familiar voice purred. Tullius looked up to see Delphine of the Blades, clad in her trademark armour and a new katana at her side. She was sitting on the top of a nearby bookshelf, watching with a smile.

The Sacrament had worked then.

“Do you normally treat your customers this way?” Tullius growled. He was still in his nightshirt and underwear.

“Only the ones we're not sure about,” Delphine replied. “Oh come now, you don't think I'm going to walk into Castle Dour and ask to see you when I just killed the Emperor, do you? You think no one's ever had the idea of misusing the Sacrament before? You're warm, you're dry, you're alive, what's the problem?”

“It's undignified!” Tullius growled at her. “You should be thankful I need your services or I assure you, your head would be on its way to the Imperial City to have a spike put through it.”

“Oh, you do actually need my assistance then,” said Delphine dryly. “I had wondered. As for attempting to arrest me for my vile and treasonous actions, I wouldn't recommend it. Look behind you.”

Tullius turned to see the two of them weren't alone in the shack. Behind him were three figures in hooded black and red robes. He thought the shorter of the three might be the young Forsworn girl who'd been at the peace conference but he wasn't sure. They were all female, their faces hidden beneath the hoods, although the middle one was definitely a Dunmer. One had a gleamingly sharp dagger at her waist, the possible Forsworn had a black staff at her back that radiated danger and the Dunmer didn't look armed but was almost certainly a spellcaster of some sort. He didn't like his chances if things did get nasty.

“Three of my best,” said Delphine calmly. “All trained, all capable. Should there be any trouble or pitiful attempts to betray me, they'll come and find you and bring you back here and things won't be so friendly. Am I clear?”

“Clear,” Tullius growled. He hated being bested like this, but he had called them in and he had no choice – the Empire's future was at stake. “While we're being so honest here, let me make clear that I in no way approve of you or anything about your business and if I had my way, you'd all be torn apart by bears. But thanks to your little stunt on the Katariah, the Empire's without a leader, Cyrodiil's likely to tear itself apart, and if you think the Dominion won't be taking advantage, you're very much mistaken. So, much as it pains me to admit it, I need your help.”

Delphine had gone very thoughtful, frowning as he'd mentioned the Dominion. She was a Blade once, she knew the Dominion of old, she surely knew that actions must have consequences. Surely...

“Go on,” she said. Tullius breathed a sigh of relief. This just might actually work out.

“If the Dominion invade, Cyrodiil will be easy prey,” said Tullius. “Leaderless, poorly organised and weak because half the Legion is here in Skyrim trying to repress the Stormcloaks. Cyrodiil needs those troops, which mean I need to sort this wretched conflict out quickly and get back there. That's where you come in.”

“You want me to kill Ulfric Stormcloak,” Delphine breathed, looking stunned. Tullius nodded, surprised at how affected by this she seemed to be.

“That's right. After an Emperor, he should be easy. I imagine you'll probably want to see to his housecarl Galmar as well. If Ulfric dies, his rebellion falls apart, the war's over and I can take the Legion home. I can offer you ten thousand septims for this.”

“I imagine you'll probably want Jarls in the Reach and the Pale who'll back the Empire as well,” said Delphine thoughtfully. “Save you the troops and the bloodshed, if time is of the essence, hmm? Especially as I cost you the Reach in the first place. Winterhold we'll leave – Korir may hate the Empire but he's too weak to give you any trouble.”

“If you're offering to eliminate Skald the Elder and Thongvor Silver-Blood too, I won't say no but how much were you planning to charge for it?” Tullius asked.

“Tell you what,” said Delphine, clearly considering her options. “I'll throw Skald in for free. He's lightly guarded and won't require much effort. I'm aware of Dawnstar – I know he's largely regarded as a joke by the locals and it's Brina Merilis who deals with a lot of their problems. If something terrible were to befall him, everyone would turn to her for leadership. She's a good leader and a former Legionnaire. She'll back you over Ulfric any day. The Reach now... that's another story.”

“You killed one Silver-Blood and broke out of a supposedly secure prison there,” said Tullius, not sure he liked where this was going. “I'm sure Thongvor Silver-Blood won't be a problem. Not worried about the Forsworn, are you? You've got one in your ranks, so I hear.”

“Well now,” Delphine smiled. “It's funny you should bring the Forsworn up. You say you want to bring troops home, which means I dare say you don't want them having to stay in the Reach to deal with the Forsworn. Igmund won't manage on his own if you were planning to reinstate him. In fact, wasn't it Igmund who made some rash promises he couldn't keep and ended up inspiring Ulfric to rebel in the first place? Don't you want someone in the Reach who can actually keep order and not spark off another civil war?”

“And who did you have in mind?” Tullius asked. “There's not really anyone else to ask, unless... oh come on now. Have you completely lost your mind??”

Delphine just smiled. “What's so crazy about it? The natives of the Reach have suffered horribly from the Nords over the years. Why can't we give Madanach and the Forsworn what they want? We kill Thongvor, the Forsworn coincidentally choose that moment to take the city, Madanach becomes King of the Reach, an independent province in its own right, and swears fealty to the Empire. Elisif the new High Queen of Skyrim recognises the Reach's sovereignty in a formal treaty so no one in Skyrim decides to do anything foolish and retake the kingdom. The Reachmen worship their old gods so the Thalmor won't need to worry about any Talos-worship going on, although obviously worship of the Eight will still be permitted throughout the Reach. You've got two nice stable kingdoms loyal to the Empire and to you in particular, so that when you show up in Cyrodiil with the Legion at your back to make that bid for the throne that's clearly on your mind, you'll be in an extremely strong position. Help me make all this happen, and you'll have my personal gratitude. The Brotherhood does not forget its friends.”

“And what exactly could you offer aside from the contract I've already requested?” Tullius asked. He didn't like either her or her insane idea, but it was also a better one than anything he'd have managed on his own.

“I'd set the personal price on your head at five million septims,” Delphine replied. “That's what anyone wanting a contract on you would have to come up with in order for us to take them up on it. It's an obscene amount of money, I know. No one's got that to spare. Not unless they form a syndicate, and that's always a risky business. You're never sure if someone might break and betray the whole thing. Plus if you manage to acquire that many enemies as Emperor Tullius, well, I'd say you probably have bigger problems than us. Well, General? What do you say?”

“I'm not accustomed to being a man with a price on my head,” said Tullius, but the thought of not having to worry about assassination was an appealing one.

“Oh, don't take it personally, I do that with everyone,” Delphine laughed. “Calculate the price I'd charge, work out how difficult it would be, that sort of thing. Occupational hazard, you know.”

“Quite,” said Tullius, really not wanting to know what sort of qualities it took to run an elite assassination ring. “I'll need to discuss all this with Elisif, of course. And I'd need to meet with Madanach too, see if he's really willing to deal with the Reach for me. I imagine Elisif would want assurances he's not intending to massacre every Nord in the Reach.”

“Of course,” Delphine said calmly. “When you've spoken to Elisif, you send a message to me at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood. The innkeeper there's a friend of mine, he holds my mail for me. Doesn't know where I live now, of course, so don't get any ideas. Once you've confirmed with Elisif that this is what you want, I'll set up a meeting with Madanach for you. Are we agreed?”

Tullius nodded. It wasn't what he'd expected but he'd take it. Now to convince Elisif and Rikke this was a good idea.

“Good,” said Delphine. “All right, there's a horse outside with your weapons and armour and some food and potions for you. Get yourself back to Solitude. Oh, and one more thing. I'm sure Elisif will be very appreciative of our assistance in helping secure the throne and bringing this terrible war to an end with a minimum of bloodshed. Appreciative enough to clear the bounties on the heads of me and certain others working for me?”

“I'm sure the Jarl will be happy to lift the bounties if you can get her declared High Queen,” said Tullius through gritted teeth. “But any future wrongdoing and you're on your own.”

“Acceptable,” said Delphine, tossing the key to the shack over to him. “Off you go, General. We'll be waiting to hear from you.”

Tullius took the key and fled, eager to get out of that horrible place. It wasn't until they heard hoofbeats that Delphine finally relaxed and her three assassins lowered their hoods.

“First the Emperor, now Ulfric Stormcloak??” Sapphire laughed. “Man, this is so much better than the Guild.”

Aranea slid her arms around Sapphire, nuzzling at the other woman's neck. “The Dunmer of Windhelm are going to just love us,” she purred. “Ulfric Stormcloak! Dead at our hands. I can hardly wait to kill him.”

Eola hadn't said a word. Her voice was back by this time, although rougher and hoarser than it had been since Falkreath. She walked slowly over to where Delphine was climbing gingerly down from the bookcase.

“Did you really mean it?” she whispered. “An independent Reach?”

“Why not?” Delphine asked. “It makes sense – the Reach won't survive on its own, someone will invade wanting the silver. It needs Imperial protection. Madanach's a good friend and ally, but he can do so much more for both us and his people as a legitimate ruler. And if Tullius wants me to kill an old friend, I want something more than just gold for my trouble – oof!” Eola had hugged her tightly, tears in her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, I don't even know what to say, I didn't think you really cared that much about the Reach. You worship Talos, don't you back the Stormcloaks??”

“Once, maybe,” said Delphine, stroking Eola's hair, smiling down at her. “But I'm no Nord and I don't care who rules Skyrim. As long as it's not the Thalmor. Come on, let's go home and break the news to your father. I think he'll like this plan.”

Eola kissed her on the cheek, still a bit too choked to say anything. Delphine smiled and led them all out. That had gone well – better than even she could have foreseen. True, she'd have to kill Ulfric and that saddened her – but he was a true Nord. He'd want to die a heroic death and go to Sovngarde, right? Freedom to worship Talos was one thing – but freedom for the Reach mattered more, certainly if the tearful smile on Eola's face was anything to go by. If said smile was affecting Delphine in ways she'd rather not admit, she kept it to herself.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Of course, the problem with making deals involving people without their prior knowledge was that you then had to break the news to them.

Given that since the High Hrothgar Accord, relations between her and Madanach had been a little frosty, to put it mildly, this was going to be a challenge.

Delphine stared up the steps to the Karthspire cave, plucking up her courage before going in to face him.

“Are you sure you don't want me to tell him?” Eola asked, squeezing her hand. “You know I can talk him into anything, pretty much.”

“I've got to face him at some point,” Delphine sighed. “Might as well do it while I've got good news for him.”

“Good luck, Listener,” Aranea called back from where she and Sapphire were walking up ahead, arm in arm. 

“Yeah, we'll hang around on the bridge, if we hear Destruction magic, we'll come running,” Sapphire called, grinning in anticipation.

“What, so you can watch and laugh?” Delphine said, rolling her eyes. Both Aranea and Sapphire laughed at that and Eola patted her arm.

“He's not going to chase you out of the cave firing lightning at you. He likes you,” Eola reassured her. 

“Likes me?? He's barely spoken to me since the Silver-Bloods took over Markarth!” Delphine sighed. “Keeps calling me 'Stormcloak' and 'Talos-lover'.”

Eola didn't really have a lot to say to that one. She just took Delphine's hand in hers and led her in. Maybe Delphine might insist on facing the King in Rags alone, but Eola wasn't going to let her Listener go in there without at least softening him up first.

Madanach was sitting at his desk in the far corner of the cave, going over a few reports from some of the more far-flung camps.

“No, Kelda, you cannot have fifteen Briar Hearts,” Madanach muttered, scrawling 'Denied' over one letter. “You can have two and like it – actually, she does have Fort Sungard on her doorstep, which is now crawling with Ulfric's filth, make it three. Here, go write a formal response and send it to Serpent's Bluff.” He passed the missive off to a waiting Forsworn and turned to the next. “Oh gods, Keirine, not more visions. I didn't lose the bloody Dragonborn, Delphine managed that all on her own.”

Ouch. True, but not like it wasn't still a sore point. Not like she didn't wake up every morning, reach for Cicero, realise he wasn't there and feel her heart break all over again.

“Would you like me to write and tell her that?” Odvan called from where he was sharpening a Forsworn axe. Madanach glared at him. 

“No. I'll answer that one personally. She wants to rant at someone over some prophecy or other, she can come here and shout at Delphine herself.” 

Delphine coughed nervously, hoping the Hags weren't making too many doom-laden prophecies regarding the Dragonborn – she had enough of that from Esbern. Madanach looked up, expression growing distinctly cooler as he saw her approach.

“Speak of the Daedra. What can I do for you today, Stormcloak?”

This again. It wasn't like she'd had a choice in the matter, in fact it had been Eola who'd told Tullius to go for it, complete with appropriately threatening speech to Ulfric. But Eola was Madanach's little princess who could do no wrong, and so the blame had fallen on her shoulders.

“Madanach. I was hoping I could have a word? In private? It's important.”

“Important, is it?” Madanach asked, cold grey eyes turning on her. “Why, what have you done this time? Let me guess, it's become vitally necessary to hand out the location of all our camps to Ulfric so he can get on with wiping us out sooner?”

“ _Father_.” That was Eola, interrupting with her arms folded and her own trademark ap Madanach glare coming right back at him. “Could you possibly stop bitching at my Matriarch and hear her out? You might like what you hear.”

“Might I?” Madanach asked, eyebrow raised. “That would make a refreshing change. First she loses the Dragonborn, resulting in half the Hags shrieking about how we're all doomed, then she hands the Reach over to the Stormcloaks. Frankly, I'm almost intrigued to know how she could possibly make my life any worse.”

“Da!” Eola had her hands on her hips, full on stare that had she known it she'd inherited straight from Mireen. “Cut it out! Please,” she belatedly added. Madanach sighed and gave in.

“Fine, fine. Take a seat and say whatever you have to say. And make it quick, I'm a busy man.” He indicated the paperwork scattered over his desk – while it wasn't as impressive as the piles Delphine was used to seeing on the desks of her former Blades and Legion superiors, there was far more of it than she'd ever expected to see among the Forsworn.

She sat down, motioning for Eola to go.

“Are you sure, Del?” Eola asked, glancing at her father, by no means convinced this relative civility would last. “I can stay if you want.”

“It's fine, Eola. You get inside with the others.” 

Eola didn't look reassured, but gave in, heading inside. 

“I hear one Destruction spell, I shall be back out here,” Eola warned from the passageway. 

“I'll keep that in mind,” Madanach growled. “Go, if you're going.”

“We have got to find you a girlfriend,” Eola muttered, disappearing into the Karthspire. “Must like older men, the outdoor life, Destruction magic and be a glutton for punishment with the patience of an Aedra...”

Madanach watched her go, shaking his head. “The youth of today, honestly. If I'd ever spoken to a camp leader like that at her age... actually, never mind, I was usually exacting fealty from them or executing them and replacing them with my own supporters at that age. So, Talosite, what have you got for me? Let me guess, it's vitally important to stopping the dragons for us to teach the Nords how to make Briar Hearts.”

Delphine could live with the barbed references to her god of choice, but she wished he wouldn't pronounce Talosite to rhyme with parasite.

“No. I've just had a big contract come in, that's all, and I'm going to need your help.”

Madanach lowered his quill, laughing quietly to himself. “Oh, she sells my country to Ulfric for the damn dragons and now she needs a favour. That's a good one, that really is. You know, Stormcloak, it's a good thing I like you.”

“Are you this rude to all the people you like?” Delphine snapped, starting to lose patience. If he wasn't Eola's father and in charge of a large faction of murdering fanatics who were camped outside their base, she'd seriously consider taking him out herself. Except damn the man, she'd started to develop a bit of a soft spot for the old bastard.

“Oh absolutely, ask anyone,” Madanach laughed. “But I reserve a special portion of the abuse just for you, Talos-lover.”

“I'm so pleased. Could we have some privacy? I rather think you won't want this spreading all over the camp, and believe me, it will.”

“Privacy on a Forsworn camp? That'll be the day. But if you insist.” Madanach raised his voice, addressing the various Forsworn hanging around the cave. “All of you! Get out of here. Yes, Borkul, including you.”

“You expect me to leave you alone with an assassin?” the big Orc called back, glowering at Delphine. He'd not forgiven Cicero for the whole Cidhna Mine fight, and that had been extended to Delphine. 

“She's not going to kill me,” Madanach said wearily. “Maybe she's a damn Talos-worshipper but she's a woman of her word and not one to break my daughter's heart. Go on, go. Come back in half an hour.”

Grumbling, Borkul trailed out after the rest of the Forsworn. Delphine didn't feel any more comfortable, in fact her neck was prickling as she realised she was alone with an unprincipled warlord with a short temper and reputation for ruthlessness.

“Well? Spit it out, woman. I do not have long. This contract. Who do you need killing?”

“It's not the killing exactly, although you'll likely have to do plenty of that. I had to make a few promises on your behalf...” Delphine steeled herself for the response and she was not disappointed.

“Oh gods.” Madanach threw his quill down, turning a full glare on her. “What in the name of Sithis have you done now? Delphine, when I agreed to this arrangement, I did not agree to be your personal lapdog!”

_No, I have Cicero for that – or did have._ Shoving the memory of Cicero away, Delphine took hold of herself. She was not going to pieces in front of Madanach of all people.

“It's not all one way!” Delphine cried, hoping to get him onside before he lost patience completely. “You benefit too!”

“Does it get me my kingdom back, the Nords sent packing and Ulfric Stormcloak's head on a spike?” Madanach asked, starting to sound a little bored. “Because unless it can do that, I'm going to need some convincing.”

Delphine pulled her chair closer, resting an elbow on his desk, finally smiling. This was going to be good.

“As a matter of fact, if it all works... yes, I'm hoping it'll do exactly that.”

Madanach didn't react, didn't say a word. He just reached for the bottle on his desk, poured himself a tumbler full of whatever alcoholic beverage that was and knocked it back in one, shivering as it went down. Turning his chair to face her direct, he leaned forward, finally smiling.

“And now, Matriarch, you have my attention.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are we all sitting outside?” It was a nice night, but not warm enough for half the camp to be sitting out here. In fact, judging from the blazing fire, braziers and three fire runes cast around them, they were freezing. Kaie had to wonder just why her father's Cidhna Mine blood brothers were all out here when they could be under stone and considerably warmer.

“Delphine wanted to talk to him in private,” Borkul growled. “So here we all are, freezing our arses off.”

“Delphine?” Kaie scratched her head. She'd heard too many rants just lately about bloody Matriarchs and how he'd thought a human one wouldn't be as much trouble as the damn Hags, but no, it turned out they were worse. “Why would he want a private conversation with her? Or any conversation? She's really not his favourite person right now. Unless... oh gods, they're not shagging, are they??”

“No!” the assembled Forsworn all cried in unison, varying degrees of horror present on all faces. Well, that was something. The only thing was, the alternatives were worse.

“He's killing her?” Kaie cried. 

“No!” Uraccen sighed. “Well, probably not, he's not that stupid.”

“She's killing him!?” Kaie gasped. “Oh gods, I need to get in there!”

“Kaie, wait!” Duach shouted after her. “You can't just interrupt!”

“I'm Crown-Princess, I'll go where I damn well please!” Kaie shouted back, racing inside. The others watched her go.

“She's turning into him, isn't she?” Uraccen said wearily. Everyone else nodded, a sense of faint despair that the next generation of Madanach's line were going to be as unreasonable as he was killing everyone's mood.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Kaie ran into the cave, and when the first thing she heard was a wild cackling that was apparently coming from her father, she feared the worst.

She feared an entirely different sort of worst when she saw him standing up, holding Delphine in an embrace, Forsworn and Blade holding each other like old friends. Mercifully they weren't actually kissing.

“You! You fabulous, amazing woman, you!” Madanach was laughing. “You – that's – you are actually a genius.”

“I just saw an opportunity, that's all,” Delphine said. “Is this a yes, then?”

“Yes, yes, I'll do it, absolutely, yes!” he laughed. “Ah, wait until Nepos hears this, he'll think I've finally gone mad, but it will be worth it!” He let her go, sitting down again, grinning from ear to ear. “So, when do you want fire and blood rained on the Nords then? We're ready when you are.”

“Not even you can pull off an uprising that quickly, Madanach,” said Delphine, sitting back down again, looking a little flushed but cheerful. “I need confirmation he's actually serious first, then I'm afraid he's going to want to meet you – they all will. Apparently they think you're going to take power and massacre every Nord in the province.”

“Me?” Madanach asked, all wounded innocence. “Would I do that?”

“I'm not even going to respond to that,” Delphine said, sounding a little terse. “Look, if you're going to be a legitimate ruler, that means actually being accountable and following the law. There's going to be Imperial troops and observers keeping an eye on you, and Elisif will not sign any sort of partition treaty if she thinks you're going to start carrying out purges.”

Legitimate ruler... treaty... Empire. Kaie felt her knees about to give way as she realised just what had her father in such a good mood. She'd heard Eola bragging constantly about how the Dark Brotherhood could do anything, and that little Aretino boy repeating it in tones of awe. She'd always said she'd believe it when the Brotherhood got them their land back. 

It looked like Listener Delphine had found a way of doing just that.

“Da?” Kaie called, emerging from the shadows. “Da, what's going on?”

“Daughter!” Madanach laughed. “Daughter, get up here. We – we're getting our land back. You're looking at the future Reach-King.”

“It's not a done deal yet!” Delphine sighed, looking like she was regretting this already. “Yes, it's a possibility, but before anything happens, I need to get a response from Tullius confirming he's talked Elisif into agreeing to this, I've got to get hold of my contact on the Elder Council and tell him this is all happening and he will be fast-tracking it all through ratification after the war's ended or he'll be hearing from me, and then I'm afraid your father's got to persuade General Tullius and Jarl Elisif he's going to be a loyal vassal of Cyrodiil and not actually going to massively abuse his power once he's got it.” She fixed Madanach with a stern glare that indicated she considered that last point the tricky part.

“Ah, don't trouble yourself, Matriarch, I shall be charm itself,” Madanach laughed, pouring another shot of jenever, the traditional Reach liqueur. “Give me ten minutes in their company, they shall love me for life. Jarl Elisif, isn't she that one whose husband was brutally killed by the Stormcloak himself? Be interesting to meet her, it sounds like we have things in common.”

“She's a twenty three year old Nord who's probably never swung a blade in her life, she's not got a lot in common with you,” Kaie sighed, perching on Madanach's desk. “Da, are you sure about this? The Empire screwed us over last time, don't tell me you trust them.”

“I don't.” Madanach's grin faded as he looked up at Delphine. “Frankly, this whole thing is just a little too fragile for my liking. Until that treaty's signed, I'm not going to be entirely easy about this. And how you expect me to take charge and persuade the Reach's Nords and Reachmen to suddenly stop fighting each other and be friends, I don't know. That's going to take some doing, Delphine.”

“You're fighting to take charge of this country and don't have a plan for running it?” Delphine asked, a little surprised at Madanach's sudden nervousness, although he was right about the risk of things going wrong.

“There's a daedra of a difference between fighting for freedom in the abstract and suddenly finding all the power and responsibility becoming reality before your very eyes,” said Madanach, growing sombre. “But I did it before, for two years. I'll do it again – if the Empire can actually keep their end of the deal.”

“They will,” said Delphine, taking his hand and smiling. “I'll make sure Tullius and Motierre are both fully aware that I don't like being messed about. I killed Titus Mede, I can take the pair of them if I need to.”

_The Dark Brotherhood really can do anything,_ Kaie realised as she watched Delphine and Madanach raise jenever shots and toast each other. They were getting their land back (maybe). They might actually win this thing. Her sisters and mother hadn't died in vain. Void it, she finally found it in her to forgive Eola for running away. Her little sister had come back and brought allies from the Void itself.

_All right, Delphine. You give us this... you've got my loyalty for life._

~~~~~~~~~~

Five days later, and the meeting that would change the fate of an Empire took place beneath the auspices of the Shrine of Namira. The bones had been hidden, the blood scrubbed off the floor and walls and table and what in Sithis' name Eola and friends liked to get up to here, Delphine didn't know and didn't want to know. It was however nearby, had a suitable table and wasn't directly linked to either the Brotherhood or the Forsworn. The place scrubbed up nicely in the end. 

She was sitting at the head of the table with Sapphire and Calixto at her back, both in Shrouded Armour with masked cowls hiding their faces. Madanach was already here with Kaie and Borkul, a couple of other Forsworn guards and his lieutenant in Markarth, Nepos the Nose. He was sitting on the left hand side of the table, Nepos on his left and Kaie on his right. Borkul stood at Madanach's back, the other guards positioned by the wall.

Eola was sitting at Delphine's right hand, opposite her sister, dressed in a set of Shrouded Robes and looking extremely nervous.

“He's late,” she said, her voice echoing in the room. “What if he doesn't show?”

“Then we'll know he's not serious and we call the whole thing off,” said Delphine. “Also he'll have messed the Brotherhood around and that's a very bad thing to do.”

“He'll have messed me around, and that is generally considered fatal,” Madanach growled. “Delphine, I am here solely because you promised me a dead Stormcloak Jarl and my kingdom back. If this doesn't work out, I am out of here. These Imperials had better have something for me.”

“Tullius said he'd be here,” Delphine assured him. Tullius' last letter had seemed optimistic about the whole thing, indicating he'd talked Elisif round and she'd even lifted the bounties on the Brotherhood as a sign of good faith. Exactly how willing she'd really been, or if she was actually interested in this or had just been browbeaten into compliance by Tullius, was another matter, but Delphine wasn't telling Madanach that. He'd been neutral on Motierre's involvement (despite Motierre agreeing to fast-track the treaty through if they actually could sort the war out) and dismissive of Tullius but seemingly curious to meet the future High Queen, apparently seeing her as the real key to making this work. Delphine hadn't the heart to tell him Elisif wasn't nearly as powerful as he seemed to think.

“And yet here we are and here he isn't,” Madanach said, indicating the chamber, painfully devoid of Imperials. “Delphine, I hope you realise cutting deals with outsiders goes against everything I believe in? I'm risking a lot here.”

“I know,” said Delphine quietly. “I do appreciate it, I really do. I want it to work out for you too. I just need you to be patient and willing to co-operate.”

“You don't know him very well, do you?” Kaie said dryly, earning a glare from her father and a hastily stifled laugh from Eola.

“I shall be quite open to any reasonable offer the Empire makes me,” Madanach growled, and Delphine could only hope that would be enough. He'd agreed that worship of the Eight would be no problem and been altogether gleeful at Talos worship being outlawed, much to her annoyance, although not her surprise. Delphine had a horrible feeling he'd have no need to crack down on troublesome Nords when discreet planting of evidence and a nod to the Thalmor could do the job for him, but it wasn't like she was in any position to really object any more. She'd killed an Emperor – blood on her hands now. Handing the Reach over to the Forsworn was nothing in comparison, especially as Madanach did appear to genuinely want to be something approaching a civilised and enlightened ruler rather than a bloody-handed despot.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and the door opened. Three Legionnaires swept in, followed by Tullius, Rikke and looking impossibly young and fragile next to the two veteran soldiers, Elisif herself. To her credit, she was doing her best to look as regal and imperious as possible, taking the seat next to Eola and facing Madanach. He'd sat up as she'd taken her seat, staring at her before seeming to get himself under control. Tullius was next to Elisif and Rikke on his other side. All three shot some nervous glances at the Shrine to Namira – all the Destruction magic and scrubbing in the world hadn't managed to get all the bloodstains off it. Mercifully they were all too polite to comment on it.

“Thank you for coming, General,” said Delphine calmly. “Now, I suppose we all know why we're here. General, I assume you told Elisif and Rikke the nature of our business?”

“Oh, we all know the nature of your business,” Rikke snapped. “I don't know what's worse, you murdering the Emperor or corrupting the Dragonborn in the process.”

“Oh honey, he was corrupted long before he met her, don't you worry,” Eola purred.

“It's true, he actually recruited me,” said Delphine, trying not to smile at the appalled look on Rikke's face. “But we're not here to talk about me, are we? This is all about liberating the Reach, saving an Empire from the Thalmor, and ensuring this young lady gets the kingdom that's rightfully hers.”

“This young lady is the Jarl of Solitude!” Elisif snapped, finally deigning to spare Delphine a second glance. “And if I'd known you were in the Dark Brotherhood, I would never have agreed to sit down at the High Hrothgar conference with you!”

“And yet here you are, sitting down at another conference with me in the full knowledge of what I do,” Delphine returned. “I'm offering you a quick way to the crown, with the minimum amount of bloodshed, and you're clearly thinking about it or you wouldn't be here.”

“I'm doing this for my people, not me,” said Elisif coldly. She turned to Madanach, sweeping him with a long, appraising look. He'd scrubbed up for the conference, switching the usual Forsworn armour for some fine clothing that he'd managed to borrow from somewhere and a silver circlet, but somehow still managed to give the impression that he'd slit your throat as soon as look at you. Definitely related to Eola then. He was watching Elisif intently, clearly sizing her up too.

“So,” she said, looking him over. “General Tullius tells me that he can have Ulfric taken care of quickly, but part of the price is you getting your own kingdom and me formally recognising it as such.” She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “I've heard you're a very bad man.”

“Guilty as charged,” Madanach grinned, leaning forward to meet her gaze. “I've done some terrible things, and it wasn't all to the Nords either. But I'm not the bad man who killed your dear Torygg. In fact, that gentleman happens to be the man who threw me in prison for two decades, and the resulting trouble from that killed two of my daughters and cost me my wife. I don't pretend to be a good man, far from it, but a deal that kills the Stormcloak is one I'm willing to consider. How about you?”

Elisif stared at him, open-mouthed. She turned to Tullius, about to ask him what to do, when Madanach reached over and grabbed her wrist.

“I'm after your opinion, not his,” Madanach growled. “I know what the General's opinions are. He's in favour or he'd never have turned up. I want to know that once this is done and he's off imposing martial law in Cyrodiil, you're not going to start rallying the troops and reclaiming the Reach for yourself.”

“Unhand me,” Elisif hissed, her face blazing. “You – you _fiend!_ ”

Madanach let her go. Elisif was glaring at him, breathing heavily and clearly seething. Rikke was half out of her seat, reaching for her sword, and Borkul's hand was going for his battleaxe. This wasn't going well. Fortunately, Delphine had picked this location for a reason.

“Weapons down. _Everybody._ Now, we're all friends here, aren't we? All here to discuss a simple business proposal like the reasonable adults we are, hmm?” Eola had got to her feet, sweeping the entire table with her gaze. “Yes, that's right, General, Legate, you two just sit back down, Elisif's in no danger. Elisif, don't you worry sweetie, Madanach doesn't mean you any harm. Borkul, put the axe away, Kaie, lower your hands and don't summon whatever you were about to. Da... stop frightening the lady, hmm? No one really wants to hurt anyone here, do they?”

Slowly, weapons were sheathed and everyone returned to their seats. Delphine smiled at Eola, squeezed her hand and turned to Elisif.

“Now, I believe Madanach wanted assurances you weren't going to turn on him once Tullius withdraws back to Cyrodiil? It's a fair question, Elisif.”

Elisif had gathered her wits and was now looking as glacial and imperious as she could manage. “I would never invade another Imperial province,” she said stiffly. 

“And I'm sure you wouldn't, my lady Jarl,” said Madanach. “But it's clear to all that you're young, inexperienced, and perhaps a little too reliant on other people making decisions for you. When Tullius leaves, what then? Whose influence are you going to fall under? The other Jarls? Your steward? Someone else? Should I perhaps be treating with them instead, if you're just going to be a figurehead queen for someone else's agenda?”

“I am no one's figurehead!” Elisif shouted, rising to her feet. Eola glanced at Delphine, but she motioned her to be still. This was getting very interesting. Elisif was staring Madanach down, fury all over her face.

“I am a loyal citizen of the Empire, Jarl of Haafingar Hold and future High Queen of Skyrim,” said Elisif coldly. “I'll govern Skyrim in accordance with Imperial law and the ancient customs of the Nords, and I'll do my level best to do right by my people. Will you do the same?”

Madanach was looking up at her, a slight smile on his face. Almost as if he approved of her. Interesting. Very interesting indeed. He turned to Nepos. 

“What do you think, old friend? Will she do?”

Nepos inclined his head, nodding in assent. “She has more spirit than I thought. Impressive. If you think it's still a good idea, go ahead.”

Madanach turned back to her, now actually smiling. “I've always tried my best to do right by my people, my lady.”

“For the Reachmen, perhaps,” said Elisif, too annoyed with Madanach to question what that little exchange was all about. “What about my people, Madanach? What about the Nords of the Reach? Would you rule in their interests as well? Or am I likely to be faced with Nord refugees fleeing over the border telling me tales of atrocities by your men? I tell you, Madanach, if that happens once you take over, I'll be ripping up the treaty and invading so fast you'll think the world's ending.”

“Oh so there'll be a treaty then,” Madanach grinned, looking up at her in a way that reminded Delphine of Cicero when he'd just got one over someone. “Good to know. Have no fear, my lady Elisif. I wouldn't be ordering any reprisals, not once the city was secure. I'm getting old and I've been fighting most of my life. I'm really quite tired of war. But I don't know if the rest of the Reach will be so easy to persuade. We'll need a gesture of friendship, a sign of true reconciliation.”

“What sort of gesture?” Elisif asked, sitting down. “Gold? Trade agreements? Formal alliance? Something else? Oh, did you want a hostage exchange? But I don't have any kin left to send...”

“Trade agreements and an alliance would be most welcome,” said Madanach softly. “But we'd need to seal the deal. I mean, it might work otherwise, but I want some guarantees. In particular, I want a guarantee that when you eventually remarry, it's not going to be to some Stormcloak sympathiser who'll persuade you the Reach is really Nord land.”

“I can't promise who I might or might not marry in future!” Elisif protested. “Torygg only died six months ago!” Her voice faded as she realised what was being proposed. “Oh no. Divines, no, you can't be serious.”

“Why not? It's a traditional way of sealing alliances. Find me a marriage among rulers that's really about love, not politics.” 

“I loved Torygg,” Elisif whispered, looking devastated. Next to her and Madanach, Eola and Kaie both exploded at the same time.

“Da, you have got to be joking, she's a Nord!” Kaie protested.

“She's younger than I am!!” Eola cried.

“Yes, and she's going to be the ruler of our larger, more powerful neighbour with whom we've not had the best history!” Madanach snapped back at them both. “I'm going to end up governing a racially mixed province with many of her folk still living in it, who I'd prefer not to start planning their own uprising as soon as the treaty's signed! If either of you can think of a better way of declaring we're all friends now than an alliance by marriage, by all means share it with the rest of us. Maybe she's not my first choice for wife, but at least she's unlikely to turn into a Hagraven, unlike the woman who was.” He turned back to Elisif, who was still looking appalled at the prospect. “Listen, my lady, I'm not going to pretend this is about love, although you're personable enough. This is business. So share my bed or not, as you please – old gods know I'd never want to force a woman into that. Just wed me, name me as consort, allow yourself to be named consort of the Reach-King, and spend enough time with me to give the impression we at least like each other.”

“You're old enough to be my father,” Elisif whispered.

“True, and likely to be in my grave within ten years, leaving you still relatively young and able to wed again to someone you actually care about,” said Madanach gruffly.

Elisif looked helplessly at Tullius, who leaned forward, coming to her rescue.

“Elisif, ignore him, you in no way have to do this.” Tullius turned to Delphine, furious. “This was not on the agenda, Delphine. I came here to see if Madanach was truly willing to be a loyal vassal of the Empire, not sell the High Queen of Skyrim's hand in marriage!”

“It's not yours to sell,” said Madanach before Delphine could reply. “It's Elisif's to give if she wants to. She might be an Imperial vassal, but she's a woman grown and capable of making her own decisions. I want to see what sort of a queen she's likely to make, not hear your words on her lips, General. Sure, I'll swear fealty to the Empire if it means I can rule my kingdom in peace. I'll even accept you standing in as a proxy for whoever the future Emperor is. But up until the Imperial Crown adorns your skull, you're just a soldier in my eyes and that's how you'll stay. The politics, I'll be discussing with the actual ruler of Skyrim and unless you want every Nord in Skyrim suddenly deciding Ulfric has the right idea after all, that's the lady Elisif here. Well, Elisif?”

Elisif did look up then, surprised by him coming to her defence. She looked him over again, appraising him properly for the first time.

“You're... taking me seriously? As – as High Queen? Not some slip of a girl who can't be trusted to know what she wants?”

“Why wouldn't I?” asked Madanach, eyebrow raised. “You'll be the one with the crown on your head and your backside on the throne and all the responsibility. Not your advisors, not your thanes, not your steward, not the other Jarls, and certainly not the General here. You. High Queen. In the end, you are the one who will be giving the orders and they will have to live with it. So yes, I'm going to take you seriously as Queen of the Eight Holds, because your orders could make my life very uncomfortable if you put your mind to it.”

Elisif stared at him, amazed. “You know, I think you're the first person to treat me like an actual adult since Torygg died.” She began to smile, sitting back and folding her arms. “Don't think you'll get a say in the internal affairs of the Eight Holds. You'd be King Consort, not a joint ruler. Anything not likely to affect the Reach, it's my decision.”

“As long as you likewise don't think you'd be joint ruler of the Reach,” Madanach replied. “You might get to advise, but the decisions regarding Reach affairs are all mine.”

“Just make sure you treat the Reach's Nords fairly and there won't be any problems,” said Elisif. 

Madanach promised this would be so, and inclined his head thoughtfully. “Is that a yes then?”

“It's a yes,” said Elisif, actually looking pleased. “Honestly, I've been so lonely since Torygg died. I miss him so much, I don't even know what to do with myself half the time. It'll be nice just to be able to talk to someone. You know, as an equal.”

“I was lonely in Cidhna Mine for almost as long as you've been alive,” said Madanach, sounding a lot gentler than anyone at that table, even his daughters, had ever heard him. “Whether this ever becomes more than business, who knows. But I do promise to be your friend and as good a husband as you'll let me be.”

“That's not a bad thing to promise at all,” said Elisif, leaning forward and reaching across the table to take his hand. “When we have our respective kingdoms, we'll sign that treaty and announce a betrothal to the world. And then you can send me the usual courtship gifts and we'll have a big wedding at the Temple of Divines in Solitude.”

“Hope it turns out better than the last wedding held there,” Rikke muttered quietly, but she was smiling. It was only Tullius who looked completely wrongfooted.

“Now see here,” he demanded. “I came here to negotiate you being ruler of the Reach and swearing loyalty to the Empire, not having you seduce the High Queen!”

“He hasn't seduced me yet,” Elisif purred, looking rather pleased with herself, even if she was blushing a little. “We're saving that for after the wedding. Now General, if you've no further objections, I believe the Dark Brotherhood were going to help win the war for you?”

No one was saying a word, in fact there were some very smug grins going around.

“I withdraw my objections,” said Eola with a smile. “Congratulations, Da, you could do worse.”

“She'll do,” said Kaie grudgingly. “I'm not calling her Ma, though.”

“I wouldn't expect you to,” said Madanach. “You can call her milady Queen like everyone else – in public anyway. You can call her Elisif in private, if she's agreeable to that. Lady Elisif, these two are my daughters, Kaie and Eola.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Elisif said, a little shyly. “I remember you from the conference at High Hrothgar, you were with the Dragonborn!”

“I was,” said Eola. “Good to see you're doing well, and welcome to the Family. You ever have any trouble with anyone, you come find me, I can sort things out at very reasonable rates for you...” She stopped at a cough from Delphine.

Tullius, on seeing everyone else at the table appeared to be reaching an agreement without him, finally gave in to the inevitable.

“Fine, fine, who am I to stand in the way. Divines know it's not my business how Skyrim's governed, or the Reach. So long as you both are loyal to the Empire and whoever claims the throne once things have calmed down, I don't greatly care what the two of you do. However, if you're going to be king of an Imperial Province, there's a few things you ought to know.”

“I'm all ears, General,” Madanach promised, leaning forward to start the discussions in earnest. 

Delphine sat back, her work done, as Madanach and Tullius began to discuss how specifics of relations between the newly-independent Reach and Cyrodiil were going to work, with Rikke and Nepos joining in to offer their input. Elisif and Eola, along with Kaie, drifted off for what promised to be part getting to know their new stepmother-to-be and part promising a very uncomfortable life if their father's heart got broken along the way if Delphine was any judge. She'd really not seen that one coming at all, but Elisif was an attractive young woman, and Madanach wasn't bad looking for a man who was nearly sixty, not to mention possessed of considerable personal charm. If Elisif was the type who wanted a strong partner to take care of her, and all the signs were that she was, Delphine imagined they could be quite happy together. Treating her as an equal and not just as a pretty face with no real power – now that was frankly genius on Madanach's part. Maybe even genuine – Delphine hoped so anyway. A man with four daughters should know how to treat women properly.

At any rate, it looked like the politics had gone well. All that remained now was to start preparing for the assassinations.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Comfy. Very comfy. Warm too. Cicero liked this bed. He liked this bed a lot. Shame he'd have to get up soon, but it was clearly light, he supposed he couldn't stay in bed forever.

“Listener,” he sighed, rolling over and reaching out to see if his sweetling was still in bed and perhaps needed her dear Cicero to... tend to her. Only to find out very quickly that he was in a single bed as he almost rolled out of it. Only reflexes and someone being there to catch him stopped him ending up on the floor.

“Careful, my son,” said Stelmaria. “You've only just healed from the last set of injuries, you don't want any more.”

Cicero's eyes shot open as he realised where he was. There was the familiar heartbreak as he realised the Listener was gone... but joy as he realised he'd not dreamed the whole thing and his mother was here.

“Mama!” he gasped. “You're not dead! I mean, you are, technically, but Alduin didn't eat you!”

Stelmaria smiled, stroking his face as she tucked him back in bed. “No, Cicero, he didn't. I was hurt, but I'm a soul in Sovngarde. We fight and we get injured, but we heal by the next day. You though, you're still living. When they brought you in...” She clutched his hand, looking like she was about to cry. “Oh my son, I thought I had lost you.”

“But Cicero is fine,” Cicero said, brushing away the tear that had started to fall from her eyes. Stelmaria shook her head.

“You weren't fine, you nearly died!” she cried. “It took the best healers in Sovngarde working round the clock to keep you alive!”

It had? Cicero vaguely remembered being in a lot of pain and frightened, but things were hazy after that.

“Alduin is dead, isn't he?” he asked, hoping that he at least wouldn't have to go through that again.

“Yes, yes, he is,” said Stelmaria. “Oh Cicero, trust you to be more concerned about the other man dying than your own survival.”

“If Cicero dies, he dies,” Cicero shrugged. “He just hates leaving a job unfinished.” Stelmaria let out a sob, staring down at him in sadness.

“My boy,” she whispered. “My poor boy. What happened to you?”

“Lots of things,” Cicero yawned, feeling sleepy again. “Poor Cicero's had a very eventful life. Fun though, most of it. But very lonely. Very lonely indeed... Mother, you won't go anywhere, will you? You won't leave poor Cicero?”

“No,” Stelmaria said softly, kissing him on the cheek. “No darling, Mama's not going anywhere. You just rest and sleep.”

Sleep. That seemed like a good idea. Closing his eyes, Cicero drifted off again.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

When he woke up, it was dark, but candles lit the room. An unfamiliar man with dark hair and a beard was checking his pulse. Cicero didn't know him, but he knew the uniform.

“You're a Greybeard!” he gasped.

The Greybeard glanced up and nodding, half-smile on his face. “In a way, yes. I've been helping your worthy mother look after you while you've been... ill.”

“Mother... where is she? She said she wouldn't go anywhere!” Cicero looked around hysterically until his eyes fell on the little bed set up next to his. Stelmaria was curled up fast asleep, wearing her old Legion uniform.

“She's barely left your side,” said the Greybeard gently. “Whatever else you may have done in your life, Cicero Dragonborn, you have a mother who loves you dearly at least.”

Cicero looked at her and smiled. Yes, he did, he did indeed. 

“I don't remember anything after Alduin died,” said Cicero. “What happened?” 

“Well, Tsun carried you in and shouted for a healer, and we found you a side room. It took several hours but we stabilised you in the end. But there was considerable nerve damage, and that takes time to repair. In the end, we kept you asleep while your body rested and healed. It's only recently you've been well enough to allow to wake up normally. Now, well, I think it's time you got up and started walking around before you forget how.”

Cicero suppressed a laugh. As if he'd forget how to do that! Determined to prove otherwise, he swung his legs out of the bed... and nearly fell over, clutching at the Greybeard's robes for support. When did he get so weak??

Stelmaria sat up, woken by the noise. “Cicero?” she cried.

“He's fine,” the Greybeard sighed wearily. “He just tried to get up a bit too fast, that's all.” 

“Do not look!” Cicero wailed, having realised something else as well. “Cicero is naked!”

Stelmaria rolled her eyes. “It's nothing I've not seen before, Cicero. Honestly, who do you think has been nursing you for the past week? I've asked too much of Jurgen here already, I wasn't going to leave him with the nursing care as well.”

“Mother...” Cicero whimpered, crawling under the blankets and about ready to die of embarrassment.

“I'm your mother, Cicero,” said Stelmaria, trying not to laugh. “It's nothing I've not had to do for you before.”

“I was a baby then!!” Cicero wailed. “Cicero does not remember it and would prefer not to!”

“You said you didn't remember this time either,” said Jurgen. “Stelmaria, I think he's going to be fine. He just needs a hot bath, breakfast and then a bit of gentle exercise, but no more than he can manage. It's going to be a while before he's well enough to go home, but he's going to be all right.”

“Thank Mara,” said Stelmaria, sounding relieved. “I've been so worried. Thank you, Jurgen. I think you saved my son's life. If there's ever anything I can do...”

“Oh, don't mention it,” said Jurgen gruffly. “The Dragonborn doesn't owe me a thing. He spared my old friend Paarthurnax, this is my way of thanking him.”

Cicero resurfaced, his mind joining the dots. Jurgen... Greybeard...

“You're Jurgen Windcaller!” he cried. “You... it was your tomb Delphine and I went to, to find your Horn!”

“Yes, I imagine it was,” said Jurgen, becoming a little frosty on hearing Delphine's name mentioned. “Although I somehow think you were not meant to go there before my successors sent you.”

“Oh, Cicero didn't mind,” Cicero giggled. “Cicero had a very good time there.” His face fell as he remembered happier times, including facing Delphine across a room full of dead Draugr and knowing without a doubt in that instant that he would happily do anything she wanted. Anything at all, right up until she asked the one thing he couldn't do. “Cicero's not had a lot of happy times in his life, but that was one.”

Stelmaria clutched his hand, her heart aching for him. Poor boy. Poor, dear boy. 

“Yes, well,” said Jurgen, gathering his things. “You found the path of wisdom in the end. That is the main thing.”

Cicero looked at his mother and then back at Jurgen, utterly baffled. “But Cicero is not wise! Cicero is a fool and always was! Mother, tell him, Cicero's not wise.”

Stelmaria sighed and looked helplessly up at Jurgen. Much as she adored her son, even she had to admit his mind was damaged beyond repair. Wisdom seemed a bit much to attribute to him, although underneath the derangement lurked a mind as cunning as it ever had been. Jurgen smiled and leant down to whisper in Cicero's ear.

“When you realise you know nothing and are as big a fool as any man... that's when you become wise!” 

Patting Cicero on the shoulder and ignoring Cicero's confused cries of “But that makes no sense at all! Mother, tell him...!” Jurgen left the Dragonborn to it. He had to confess, he'd expected a complete maniac. He'd been stunned to learn the man had spared Paarthurnax, and even more surprised to actually meet him in person. Cicero Dragonborn defied all expectations and no doubt would continue to do so. Yes, this one bore close watching, very close watching indeed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Thongvor Silver-Blood opened up another bottle of Honningbrew Mead, feeling rather pleased with himself. Jarl of the Hold, Ulfric mostly leaving him to his own devices, the Forsworn having been strangely quiet these last few weeks, yes things were going quite nicely for Thongvor. True, his brother had been killed and Ulfric had gone so far as to make him lift the considerable bounties on those responsible, but everything had its price. There was also that little business of the Emperor being assassinated but one of the nice things about being a Stormcloak Jarl was that none of that was really his problem. No, life was good for Thongvor and hopefully it was about to get even better as the door opened and the guards brought in tonight's bedmate.

A Reachwoman, as usual – he'd no intention of sullying a Nord maiden with the sort of things he liked to get up to. Short blonde hair, blind in one eye – typical, had he worked his way through all the undamaged ones already?

“Damaged goods, huh?” he growled. “Well. Suppose you'll do. Not like I'll be looking at your face or anything. Get over here, slut.”

“As you wish, sir,” the girl murmured. He really didn't like her tone. 

One slap later and the girl was face down and bent over his bed. Much better. 

“Now this is how it's going to be, bitch,” he snarled at her. “You keep your eyes down, your hands to yourself, you call me sir at all times, you do what you're told. Then I'm going to fuck you in every orifice you have and what is more, you will be begging me to do it harder. Am I clear on this?”

“Sir,” the girl said softly. He thought he heard a sob in her voice. Good. Meant she was learning a bit of respect. Reaching for his dagger, he sliced the dress off her. He always liked ruining their clothes, meant they had to go to the steward for a new set in their underwear afterwards.

To his surprise, painted on her back were three words. LOOK BEHIND YOU.

Thongvor wasn't the brightest man out there but he was paranoid. He looked.

Behind him, magic flared and a telekinesis spell was cast. He turned back only to see a naked girl with one of the swords off the wall in her hand and a vicious grin on her face.

“See you in the Void, _sir_ ,” she grinned, slashing it upwards. Thongvor gasped, pain exploding in his chest and blood bubbling in his throat. Then she kicked him to the ground, retrieving the blade and watching with satisfaction as he fell to the floor, bleeding his last.

Eola wiped the sword off on the bedsheets and reached for the chest under the bed. One of the things about having a servant class composed of Reachmen and a ruling class composed of Nords was that the Nords never really looked at the faces of the servants and so hadn't really noticed as various of them began to be replaced. Virtually every servant now in the Keep was a Forsworn agent, and some of the chamber maids had been kind enough to stash her ebony war axe and her Forsworn armour in the chest under the bed that very morning. She was soon dressed, armed, mage armour cast and an Atronach trailing in her wake. She kicked the door open and planted her axe in the back of one of the guards. The other turned to face her in shock. The steel sword that had killed Thongvor did for him.

“The Forsworn shall reclaim what is rightfully ours!” she shouted, the sound echoing around the Keep. That was the signal, as every Forsworn agent in the place shed their disguises and began taking on the guards. Eola cast a few spells here and there, and happily tackled anyone in her way, but with the Jarl dead, her part was done. Time to let Delphine know that the plan had worked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Delphine paced the room. Late, gone midnight, but she couldn't sleep, not with Eola out there doing... well, if all had gone well, murdering a Jarl. If it hadn't... being used as his concubine and humiliated and hurt was only the start. She kicked a basket across the room, anger flaring. If he had hurt her, if he'd laid one finger on her Eola... But there was nothing she could do, it had been Eola's idea and she'd insisted on carrying it through. She'd not been able to come up with anything better.

Footsteps in the corridor. Delphine looked up hopefully. The door opened and Eola stepped in, halting in surprise to see Delphine still up.

“You're awake?” 

“Of course I'm awake, you didn't think I was going to be able to sleep, did you?” Delphine asked. She stepped closer and gasped to see the split lip and black eye Eola was sporting.

“What did he do to you??” she hissed, the rage coming back.

“It's nothing,” said Eola, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Really, Del, it's fine. Yeah, the bastard hit me but it's OK, I shoved a sword through his ribcage so we're good.”

“It's done?” Delphine asked, slowly beginning to calm down. Eola nodded.

“It's done,” she whispered, cuddling Delphine. “Thongvor's off with his brother in the Void, Da's people have taken the city, and they left homes and businesses alone just like you said, even the Nord-owned ones, they only went for guards and those fool enough to raise weapons. Markarth's ours, Del. We got the Reach. And thanks to you, we might actually get to keep it this time.”

“I really don't care about the Reach,” Delphine whispered, eyes closed as she held Eola tight. “You're all right, that's the main thing. Did he... did he do anything?”

“Nah. Saw the message on my back and the fool looked. He didn't get any further than that.”

“It was far enough,” Delphine growled, not liking the idea of Eola getting hurt and pawed over by that son of a bitch Jarl.

“Jealous?” Eola purred. Delphine went very still and let her go, sitting down again.

“No, why would I be?” she said stiffly. She didn't like the way Eola was looking at her, and of course she wasn't jealous, she wasn't in love with Eola, she didn't like the idea of filthy perverted Jarls groping any of her assassins – oh. Oh Sithis.

Eola had leaned down, cupped Delphine's face in her hands and was now kissing her, gently but oh so very persistently, fingers snaking into her hair as she pushed her back into her chair. Delphine reached up to push Eola away, tell her to stop, it was wrong, she didn't want her that way but somehow her arms pulled her closer instead and she found herself with a lapful of warm, willing Reachwoman. One of Eola's hands trailed down her neck and over her chest, cupping one of Delphine's breasts, and Eola's own were right there, barely covered in that Forsworn gear of hers. Sithis, she had to stop this... oh, but no one had touched her since Cicero had gone and Eola's skin was just so soft...

_Cicero._ A vision of her jester boy flashed across her mind, laughing and laughing with his flowing red hair and his jester outfit and his smile, his crazy, viciously dangerous smile and his eyes like the Void. Of him coming home and seeing this and slashing Eola's throat before the smile had even faded, and then just walking away in disgust, leaving her with a dead lover and the Fool of Hearts gone for good. 

_He's not dead. Even though it's been nearly a month and no news. He's coming back. He'll always come back._

She pushed Eola away, gasping for breath. “Get away from me,” she breathed.

Eola staggered back, surprised. “Del?” she asked. “Are you...? Oh honey, I'm sorry, don't cry, please...”

Delphine hastily wiped the tears away. “Don't,” she said fiercely. “Don't call me that. I don't feel that way about you.”

“Don't give me that,” said Eola, shaking her head. “You came up with a way to liberate the Reach and it wasn't because you cared about the cause. You did it for me, didn't you? And you hated the whole 'pose as a concubine' idea, and don't try and tell me it was out of some moral outrage. You hated the idea of someone else with his hands on me. You're turning me down, at least tell me the truth.”

“Truth??” Delphine cried. “You're the one who's been crawling into my bed every night since Cicero left with the excuse that I need 'looking after'! Looking after, is that what they're calling it these days??”

“You didn't ask me to leave!” Eola shouted back. 

“Yes, because gods forbid I have a moment of weakness and feel lonely and afraid!” Delphine shouted. “Doesn't make it right!”

“It could be!” Eola cried. “Sithis, Del, you had me at 'you're not her matriarch, I am'! Don't tell me there's nothing there, please.”

“I kill your mother, and you're turned on? Talos help me, you're weirder than Cicero,” Delphine whispered. Eola's face fell as the mention of his name made her realise what was really going on.

“He's not coming back, Del. It's been a month since he left, a whole month. If he was going to come back, he would have done. He'd have come to find me at any rate, he's got my sword. Del, honey, he would want you to be happy. He said to mourn and move on, name another Keeper in the fullness of time.”

“It's been a month!” Delphine cried. “That's no time at all! He's my Dragonborn, Eola! And I'm not... I'm not giving up hope. I'm sorry, Eola. But I'm still in love with Cicero and until I see a body or enough time's gone past that I know for sure he's never coming home, I'm not giving up. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” said Eola quietly. “Not your fault. I – I shouldn't have... it's too soon, you're still grieving, gods, so am I, I didn't think...”

“Eola,” said Delphine, not daring to look up. “Just go.”

Without another word, Eola turned and left. Delphine waited for the door to close before letting herself cry.

When morning came, Delphine feared the inevitable awkwardness – right up until Esbern told her Eola had gone. Delphine ran to Eola's room, but it was true. All of Eola's things, gone. All of Eola's personal meat stores, gone. Eola, left and gone without a word. She wasn't in Karthspire camp, not at the Shrine of Namira, not even with her father in Markarth. Eola had vanished out of the Reach, leaving no trace behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madanach/Elisif I never even saw coming but then they met and started *flirting* and a marriage alliance did make sense and they both hate Ulfric... Marriages have been built on worse and Elisif did strike me as the type to want someone who'd look after her, whereas Madanach's been alone for a long time and is certainly going to take a shine to a pretty young woman in her twenties.
> 
> One day, his daughter might catch a break romantically too, but that day is not today...


	35. Sovngarde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero's enjoying Sovngarde and getting better, but all good things must come to an end and no one alive can stay in Paradise forever. Fortunately, Stelmaria's got a parting gift for him, a new friend gives him a reason to go home, and some old ones are on hand to ease his re-entry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for man on man snogging and groping and dirty talking between our favourite subby jester and our favourite coldhearted spectral assassin.

Cicero had lost count of how long he'd been here. The days all seemed to merge into one after a while. He must have spent a week doing very little apart from taking short walks around Sovngarde with Stelmaria. It all seemed so impossibly bright and clean, and everyone was so friendly. When he'd first emerged into the Great Hall with Stelmaria, everyone present had turned to face him, stood up and proceeded to give him a standing ovation. He'd promptly hidden behind his mother, face burning, and if he'd been strong enough he'd have run off. This wasn't right! He belonged in the shadows, unnoticed, unmarked, ready to strike and kill. All this attention, he had no idea how to deal with it, none at all. Stelmaria had noticed and taken him outside for a bit of peace. Felldir and Hakon had found them and sat quietly with the two of them for an hour or so, talking about weapons and armour maintenance. Cicero had mostly kept quiet, but occasionally he'd piped up with the odd contribution and not been completely dismissed, so that was something.

After a week, they'd brought his weapons and armour back, all repaired and gleaming. He'd been glad to have them again, he'd felt practically naked without them. On seeing him skipping about in his leather and dragonscale getup, Gormlaith had laughed and asked him if he wanted a sparring match. He'd said yes without a second thought. Since then, the two of them had sparred pretty much daily, and while he guessed she was holding back a little while he recovered, it had been good for him. Turns out the true Nord hero, Gormlaith “what else is there but the wetting of my blade?” Golden-Hilt, and Cicero “let's kill someone!” Di Rosso of the Dark Brotherhood had rather more in common than anyone might have thought. 

The days passed and Cicero almost forgot about the world he'd left behind. Sometimes he'd look at Dawnbreaker and think of Eola and wonder how she was, if she'd gone back to Delphine or was staying with Madanach instead or back with her coven. He hoped she wasn't lonely or unhappy.

Sometimes he looked at Dragonbane and thought of Delphine and his heart nearly broke. But he'd pull himself together and move on. It was done, it was past. He should move on. Life was peaceful here, and he had new friends and his dear mother. But he couldn't forget. Delphine haunted his dreams and his thoughts. He wondered how long it had been, if she was upset or glad he was gone, if she missed him or had taken another lover already. Esbern? The Butcher? Madanach? Brynjolf? The Stormcloak Jarl? Someone else? He didn't know. He didn't want to. He couldn't bear to imagine her miserable, but the thought of her smiling at someone else made him want to stab things.

So it was that he didn't know how to react when he walked straight into a big Nord with a bearskin on his head that looked uncannily like Ulfric Stormcloak's older brother... or his father.

The dagger was out in seconds. 

“You!” he seethed. “You! Are Hoag Stormcloak!”

Hoag glanced at the dagger and then back up at Cicero, not even flinching. “Yes. Put that little thing away, Dragonborn. You're not quite at full strength yet and you can't kill a man who's already dead.”

Cicero sheathed the blade, still furious. “You... you and my Delphine... you!”

“She was not your Delphine at the time,” said Hoag coldly. “And not your Delphine now, from what I hear. How ironic, you corrupt her soul and bar her from Sovngarde forever and then you can't even keep her. Pathetic.”

The dagger was back out and Hoag would have been a dead man if he'd lived. As it was, Cicero's dagger sank into his chest... and Hoag just roared in fury and unsheathed his battleaxe, swinging it down to strike. 

Cicero only just dived out of the way in time, his Daedric knife still stuck in the big Nord's ribs. Around him he was vaguely aware of shouting as the entire population of the Great Hall had got to their feet and dived to the sides of the room, but no one was exactly breaking it up either. In fact, most of the room seemed to be... cheering?

The dance began in earnest, Cicero weaving and dodging the blows, stabbing this way and that with Dragonbane in one hand, Dawnbreaker in the other, but nothing was even slowing Hoag down. He fought like his son... he fought better than his son. Cicero began to have the uncomfortable feeling he'd bitten off more than he could chew, but this man had been Delphine's lover, might still have been if he'd lived, and Cicero couldn't bear it, couldn't bear the thought that if Delphine walked in right now she'd choose Hoag without a second thought. He didn't care that he couldn't kill the dead, he wanted to murder this man.

Diving under Hoag's reach, he sped past him and leapt on to his shoulders, ready to slit his throat with his trusty ebony dagger. Hoag roared, grabbed him by the front of his armour and threw him bodily across the room. Cicero hit the table and flew backwards along its length, sending food and plates flying everywhere. Finally, he rolled off the table as his momentum slowed, landing perfectly and drawing his swords, holding them ready as Hoag stormed down the room, screaming a battle cry with his axe raised to kill.

“FUS RO DAH!”

It wasn't Cicero who'd Shouted. The Thu'um caught both of them and sent Hoag sprawling, with even Cicero staggering under it. Blinking, he looked up to see who'd Shouted... and felt his heart sink and his skin prickle. He wasn't used to feeling terrified for his life. He really didn't like it.

Stelmaria Di Rosso was striding across the room and she looked furious.

“CICERO DI ROSSO!” she roared at him. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING, YOUNG MAN? BRAWLING IN SHOR'S HALL?? THIS IS NOT HOW I BROUGHT YOU UP!”

“Mother,” Cicero gasped, sheathing his swords and raising his hands in an attempt to placate her. “I can explain, really, please don't hit me, OW!”

She'd grabbed him by the ear, dragging him to face her as he whimpered for mercy.

“I am extremely disappointed in you, Cicero! No, don't look at me like that! Sparring is one thing, but look at this place. LOOK AT THIS MESS! There is BLOOD EVERYWHERE. FOOD everywhere. SOMEONE will have to clean this up!!!”

“Sorry, Mother,” Cicero whimpered. “He'll happily help, if dearest Mama could please let go of my ear?”

Stelmaria let him go, still seething. Cicero sat very meekly and quietly on the nearest bench, deciding not to push his luck. Mercifully, she turned her attention to Hoag. The smug look on the Nord's face faded instantly.

“AND WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF??” she shouted at him. “Running around Sovngarde waving an axe at MY SON?? Picking on someone half your size when you know you can't die?? WHERE IS YOUR HONOUR?”

“He started it!” Hoag cried. Stelmaria was not impressed.

“I don't care!” she snarled. “Now _sit down!_ Both of you are staying there, right there, until you've talked it over and learned to act like civilised human beings. I don't care how long it takes!”

Suitably chastised, Hoag sat down on the bench next to Cicero, staring at the floor. Seemingly convinced that there would be no further trouble, Stelmaria went off and started offering profuse apologies to Ysgramor, who was assuring her it was quite all right, this sort of thing happened all the time.

Cicero glanced up at Hoag, surprised at how quickly he'd knuckled under. Mind you, his type always had been strong, dominant women, Cicero supposed. Although if he had any feelings for Stelmaria, or indeed history here with her, Cicero emphatically did not want to know. Bad enough he'd taken his pleasure with Delphine.

“I could easily have bested you in life,” Cicero muttered darkly.

“I was besting you here if your mother hadn't saved you,” Hoag growled. Then he sighed, looking uncomfortable but being a man of honour at least. “But you fought well. You're quite brave for an assassin.”

“You were a challenge,” Cicero admitted. “You fight better than your son.”

Hoag did laugh at that. “Do I now? Well, maybe one day he'll come here and we'll put that to the test. Ah, but it was good to be challenged for once. Maybe you're not a Nord, maybe you're a dishonourable wretch who seduced and corrupted my Blademistress. But you can't be all bad or she wouldn't have looked twice.”

“If Cicero had not been Dragonborn, she would not,” said Cicero softly. Hoag snorted bitterly.

“Huh. Dragonborn. She always was looking, asking for news of any newly arisen warriors that might have turned up lately. Even when she was with me, I always had the feeling that part of her was still on duty, always watching and waiting for the Dragonborn. For you.”

“Not any more,” said Cicero, wiping a tear away. “She sent poor Cicero away, telling him not to come back until he'd killed Paarthurnax. Well, Cicero hasn't and Cicero won't. So Cicero can never go back.”

“What??” Hoag cried. “What is this, man? You're going to just give up on her?”

“What choice do I have?” said Cicero bitterly. “Cicero cannot disobey his Listener.”

“Oh come now, what foolishness is this?” Hoag cried. “I used to disobey her all the time. Yes, she'd make me suffer for it later, but she never forced me to do anything. Delphine may like to be the one in charge, but she likes her men strong. With a spine. Men who can stand up to her and push back now and then. Makes things more interesting, she told me once. I've been watching, you know. Saw the two of you together. Broke my heart, but she was happy. She wasn't looking away, all her attention was on you. I saw the whole range of emotions on her face when she looked at you, but what I never saw was indifference or boredom.” Hoag sighed, staring at the floor. “She's not a Nord. She'd never have come here even if she'd died a hero. My Blademistress is lost to me, I know that. But you and she still live. She's not lost to you.”

“She is, she is!” Cicero wailed. “Cicero can never know his Listener's affections again! He – wait. Is... is the older Stormcloak Jarl saying Cicero should just go back there, refuse to do it and then refuse to leave until she's forgiven him, taking whatever punishment she hands out?”

“Of course you should, man!” Hoag cried. “I mean, maybe not go straight back there, you should bring a gift of some sort, a peace offering. Flowers, she loves flowers.”

“Cicero thinks it has gone a little beyond flowers,” said Cicero hesitantly, but he was beginning to feel the faintest flickers of hope.

“Well, bring her the heads of her enemies then!” Hoag cried. “She must have someone else she'd like to see dead instead. The Delphine I knew always knew how to negotiate.”

So did the one Cicero knew. It was just a matter of finding the right bargaining chip. A challenge... but one potentially solvable. For the first time in a long time, Cicero finally felt his will to live returning.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Stelmaria returned from the long walk she'd taken outside to an unexpected sight. The Great Hall was cleaned up... and Hoag Stormcloak and Cicero were sitting next to each other, quaffing horns of mead and getting quite merrily trashed. Cicero was flushed bright red, giggling insanely and cuddling up to Hoag, eyelashes fluttering in a decidedly un-warriorlike way.

“You're adorable!” Hoag cried, cuddling Cicero and kissing the top of his head, a drinking horn in his other hand that was spilling mead everywhere. “Ah, Delphine's a lucky woman. She'll have missed you. I'm not into men, but if I was, I'd be keeping you here for myself, you little cutie-pie.”

Cicero snuggled in closer, beaming up at the big Nord. “Cicero likes you too!” he giggled. “Cicero is into men, but Hoag is not Cicero's type. Dear Hoag is far too nice! Cicero likes his men hard and cold and unyielding and sadistic and evil and...” He shivered, clearly remembering some memory. Stelmaria had no desire whatsoever to know what it was. 

“So you made up your fight then?” said Stelmaria. Cicero nodded brightly, still giggling.

“Hoag helped Cicero, and now Cicero and he are friends!” he squealed, bouncing up and down on the bench. “Mama, mama, Hoag thinks Delphine might still love her Cicero. That he might still have a chance! So Cicero needs to see Jurgen and find out if he's well enough, and then...” His voice quavered as he looked up into Stelmaria's eyes, and she couldn't hide the grief stabbing her in the heart at the thought of him going, even though she knew he'd have to eventually. Cicero saw and knew then what she'd known for some time – that once he left that would be it. She'd never see him again. She knew a Dark Brotherhood assassin would never come to Sovngarde in the afterlife.

“Mama,” he whispered, his face falling. “Mama, don't cry, please...” He staggered off the bench, collapsing to his knees before picking himself up and making his way unsteadily over, taking her in his arms and holding her tight, raining kisses all over her face.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Cicero is sorry!” he cried, tears in his own eyes. “He loves you, he loves you so much, how could I not, you're my mother! But I love the Listener more! I love... the Listener... more...” He broke down in tears, clutching her to him as she wept on his shoulder. “I'm sorry,” he sobbed. “So sorry... I love you, I'm sorry, but I can't...”

“Oh Cicero,” she whispered, leaning in to his armour, hard scale under soft leather and strong arms around her. “Cicero, I know, I know, of course I do. You are my son, I will always love you. Always... but I can't replace your wife.”

Cicero laughed, a short, bitter laugh most unlike his usual mad cackle. “She's not my wife, Mother.”

“Not yet,” said Stelmaria softly. “But I have a feeling she will be. Call it mother's intuition.”

Cicero held on tighter. “I'll miss you so much,” he whispered. “Mother... Cicero doesn't think he'll come back here when...”

“I know,” Stelmaria wept. “I know! Oh my boy, my boy, dear sweet beautiful boy...”

They held each other for a long while, saying nothing. What was there to say, really? Cicero was still living – he couldn't stay in Sovngarde. Deep down, they'd both known that all along. Finally, she let him go.

“Come on, come with me,” she said softly, taking his hand and leading him out. “I have something for you. I've been working on it with Jurgen for a while now. A little parting gift. Something to remember me by.”

She led him outside to the whalebone bridge. Neither felt like crossing it and Cicero in his current state wasn't sure it was a good idea. Still, the breeze from the chasm soon sobered him up.

“This place is beautiful,” he said softly. “Cicero shall miss it.”

Stelmaria squeezed his hand. “I think Sovngarde will miss you too,” she said with a smile. “But your gift. It's a new Thu'um. Here. Watch and learn, my son. Watch and learn. SOS FRON DAAL!”

The three words blazed on the ground, spitting and burning into the stone. Cicero stared, enthralled as they burned into his mind.

“Blood Kin Return?” he said. “But... what does it do?”

“I'll show you,” said Stelmaria, turning him to face her, holding him in an embrace as she rested her her forehead against his. Cicero felt a rush of images flash through his brain as she gifted him with the Shout. Sos – blood – the blood she'd shed giving birth to him, the blood she'd shed dying to protect him and the blood of others that she'd shed to keep him safe if he ever needed her. Fron – kin – the shared connection from the flesh and blood they shared, the love that linked them forever, the tie that nothing could sever, the mother-son bond that would never die even though she had. Daal – return – that kinship tie calling her back, bringing them together even through different planes of existence, bringing her back to his side whenever he called.

Head spinning, he let her go, trying to process it all. “Mama?” he whispered. “What... what did you give me?”

“It'll summon me,” she whispered, smiling despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Shout it when you need me, and I will come. Call me to fight for you – or just call me to talk. It won't last for long – but I can't bear never seeing you again, my son, my darling son...”

“Mama,” Cicero gasped, too choked to manage anything more coherent. “Mama!” He clung on to her, overjoyed. This wasn't the last he'd see of her. He'd still have a tie to her. They stayed like that for the longest time, before Stelmaria finally led him back inside. One last night in Sovngarde and then... then it was time the Dragonborn went home.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Everyone in the Hall gathered to see him off, it seemed. Gormlaith, Felldir, Hakon, Jurgen, Ysgramor, Hoag and many others who Cicero had seen but not had a chance to speak to. Goodbyes were said, there were hugs, words of advice and well wishes in dealing with his enemies. Finally, Cicero came to Stelmaria.

No words here. They'd spent most of the last night in her room, sitting up and talking quietly, before he'd dozed off in her arms. She'd not been able to bring herself to send him away. Now they were parting for good.

He held her in his arms, tears rolling down his face. He loved her so very much, but he couldn't stay. Sovngarde was beautiful but it wasn't home. Stelmaria was his adored mother, but she wasn't the Listener. Sparring was all well and good but it wasn't the same as a life-or-death tussle with someone you could sink a blade into and watch bleed out. Still, he clutched her tightly, unwilling to let her go until he had to.

“You should go,” she whispered, aware the rest of Sovngarde was waiting. Slowly, summoning every bit of willpower she had, she let him go and stepped back. “Go. Go now before...” _Before I break and refuse to let you._

Cicero nodded and headed for the bridge, steeling himself. “I love you. Take care, Mama. I... I think Hoag likes you, you should do something about that.” Well, if he couldn't be there to look after her, someone should.

Stelmaria nodded, smiling through her tears. “I'll think about it. Fight well, my son. I'll be watching over you.”

Cicero smiled, waved, turned and made his way over the bridge. She kept on smiling encouragement at him all the way across, until she was no more than a small red figure on the other side. 

_Sos Fron Daal. You will see her again, Cicero._ With that thought in his mind, he turned to face Tsun. 

“I'm ready,” was all he said.

“So you are,” said Tsun. “Remember, Cicero, you're a hero of Sovngarde now. When you die – there is a place for you here always. You're not bound to Sithis any more.”

Cicero closed his eyes, feeling himself free of any chain that might tie him to the Brotherhood, Delphine or the Night Mother... and knowing that deep inside, his heart's desire was to bind himself with them all over again. 

“Thank you,” was all he said. “Please, send me home.” He didn't know where precisely home was any more, but he was sure Tsun would figure something out. Tsun smiled and placed hands on his shoulders and the world went white.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero opened his eyes to find snow falling on him as he lay in a big drift of it. Snow! He'd forgotten about snow. Definitely Skyrim then.

“Snow!” he whispered, childlike delight all over his face. He scrambled to his feet, reaching into his pocket for his hat. He'd not really needed it in Sovngarde, but Skyrim was another matter. How would he keep his head warm without it?

“Snow, snow, snow!” he laughed, dancing in the snowflakes. At least up until he saw all the dragons. They were gathered around, perched on the rock formations that Cicero recognised from the last time he'd been here. This was the Throat of the World.

“Oh... Sithis,” he muttered, reaching for Dragonbane. He needn't have worried. Not a single one was moving to attack him.

“Alduin mahlaan,” the dragons chorused as one. _Alduin is fallen._

“Ziizahro Dovahkiin los ok Dovahkriid,” cried one. _Cicero Dragonborn is Alduin's Dragonslayer._

“Sahrot thur qahnaaran!” another shrieked to the wind. _The mighty overlord vanquished._

This went on for some time, the dragons singing their requiem for the fallen World-Eater, until one by one they peeled away, flying off into the sky. Well. That was odd. Gratifying, but odd.

Paarthurnax landed next to him, nudging at Cicero with a low growl.

“Ziizahro,” he said, relieved. “Long has it been since we saw you in Keizaal. We knew Alduin had fallen but of you, no word. We had feared the worst.”

“Cicero did not die, but he came close,” said Cicero, wrapping his arms around the dragon's snout, nuzzling at the old Dovah's scales. Sithis, but it was good to see Paarthurnax again. He couldn't kill him. Not now, not ever, and Delphine would just have to deal with it. “He was injured in the fight and nearly died, but there were healers in Sovngarde who saved him. In particular, Jurgen Windcaller, your old friend.”

“Jurgen!” Paarthurnax laughed. “It is good to know he's well. I miss him. But he is joor, I am Dovah. It is the price we pay for our friendships, but I would rather have known him and been parted than never have had the pleasure.”

Cicero thought of seeing Stelmaria again, and of getting to know all the people he had while he was there. He'd miss them, all of them. But he didn't belong there and he knew it.

“My mother was there,” he said softly. “She was Dragonborn too and she died fighting to protect her city... and me. So they took her to Sovngarde. I didn't know... she died so long ago, I was just a boy.” He felt the tears prickle at his eyes. “I'd missed her so much, and she was there and real and so beautiful, just like I remembered her. She helped me kill Alduin. And after... she nursed me back to health. But I had to come back, and now Cicero won't see her again, not like that anyway. I miss her.”

“It is hard, I know,” said Paarthurnax gently. “But to have had a mother, and one who loved you well – that is a good thing, yes? Dragons hatch and can fly within a few hours – we do not stay long with our mothers. We never have a parent's love to guide us and guard us. We salute Akatosh as father but he is a remote figure indeed. To be loved and cherished as joor parents do for their children – it is something I envy.”

Cicero cuddled Paarthurnax, wishing it was something he could help with. “I love and cherish you!” he told him. “Only Cicero thinks it is not the same...”

“No,” Paarthurnax laughed, nuzzling at Cicero. “No, it is not. But it is still welcome. Thank you, my friend.”

Cicero let Paarthurnax go, blushing a little. Of course Tsun had sent him here. It was somewhere at least one friend would be waiting. 

“So now what?” Cicero asked. 

“For me or you?” Paarthurnax asked. “Ziizahro, I cannot tell you where your path leads. But even if your Huzrah will not have you, you still have your sister Yol-Ah out there, yes? You should find her. She was here, you know. About a month or so after you left, three weeks ago now? She came here alone, braving the mists and frost with her cloak of fire. The poor child was half frozen but she made it here. Wanted to know if there'd been any news. I could tell her Alduin was dead but nothing more. She wept to hear it – not for Alduin but for you. She believed you perished as did we all. Seek her out, I think she will be overjoyed indeed to see that it was not so.”

“I'll find her,” Cicero promised, feeling horribly guilty at the thought of Eola being unhappy. His poor sister, she would have had no idea what had happened. She must have been so worried, all this time. Had it really been nearly two months? Sweet Mother, anything could have happened in this time. He needed to get off this mountain, find out what had happened in his absence.

“And you?” he asked. “What will you do now? You don't need to stay here if Alduin isn't coming back.”

“No,” said Paarthurnax, a little sombre. “No, I do not. So perhaps the skies of Keizaal shall hear my Thu'um once again. Perhaps with Alduin gone, the other Dov will come to see the rightness of the Way of the Voice.” 

“Perhaps,” said Cicero, not feeling terribly optimistic about Paarthurnax's chances, but wishing him well all the same.

“But willing or not, they shall all hear it!” Paarthurnax laughed. “Ah, but it is good to be alive. I feel younger than I have in years!” Shaking his wings, he took to the sky, circling before departing. “Sky guide you, Ziizahro! May your Thu'um never weaken.”

“Nor yours!” Cicero called, waving goodbye as Paarthurnax left. Shivering from the cold, he prepared to walk back into Tamriel... only to stop as another dragon landed beside him. He'd know that red and black colouring anywhere.

“Odahviing!” he cried.

“None other!” Odahviing laughed. “Ah, but it is good to see you again, Ziizahro. We had all feared you lost. Pleased am I to know it was not so. I knew you would come back somehow.”

“Cicero did, he did!” Cicero crowed. Whereas Paarthurnax had always felt more like a parent or a loving older brother, Odahviing felt more like a twin spirit. With Paarthurnax, it had felt wrong to brag about slaughtering Alduin. With Odahviing, it felt very very right. 

“Cicero has killed Alduin!” Cicero said dramatically. “Cicero went to Sovngarde and fought him to a standstill and killed him with fire!”

“Hah! The best way!” Odahviing laughed. “Truly you are one of us now. Ziizahro Dovahkiin, zeymahi... thuri.”

Brother and overlord – wait, what? Cicero shook his head.

“No, no, no, Cicero is not anybody's Thur. Humble Cicero is but a lowly assassin, he doesn't need to be King of the Dragons. Especially not nice Odahviing.”

“Nice?” Odahviing growled, baring teeth the size of Cicero's arm. “I am not nice! I am a Dovah!”

“Yes, yes, you are and a very fine Dovah at that,” said Cicero hastily. “It is only... are you sure?”

Odahviing nodded. “Of course, why not? Amongst the Dov, Ziizahro, there are few equals. There is weaker and there is stronger. There is servant and master. There is no shame in submitting to a stronger Dovah. And you are the strongest of all. You have killed the Firstborn. Your Thu'um ended his life. There is no shame in serving you.”

“But...” Cicero stammered. “But I don't want anyone serving me!”

Odahviing growled, face right up against Cicero, backing him up against a rock.

“Now listen to me well, Dovahkiin!” Odahviing snarled. “Thanks to your little stunt at Dragonsreach, I am a laughingstock amongst the Dov. I was captured! Caught! By you. My own leadership dreams are over, Ziizahro. Few will want someone so foolish as a follower either. And a lone Dovah is at the mercy of everyone. So unless you want me to perish at the claws and Thu'um of my fellows, you _will_ accept my allegiance, and you _will_ provide the protection that goes with that! Few will want to harm the right-hand Dovah of the one who slew Alduin.”

“Yes, yes, Cicero will, he will!” Cicero cried, backing away in terror. “Cicero shall be Odahviing's Thur if he wishes it! Cicero is very sorry for the dragon trap and will not do it again!”

Odahviing relaxed and nuzzled at Cicero, seeming much happier. Once again, Cicero was reminded uncomfortably of himself. He hoped he'd never been this much trouble for Delphine, and if she consented to take him back, he promised himself he'd be much better behaved for her than this dragon was ever likely to be for him.

“That is well, Dovahkiin,” Odahviing purred. “You know my name, call it as a Thu'um and I will come to you. And now, am I to take it that you want to return to the strunmah you were cast out from and take it back? Or did you have some other plan?”

“Cicero doesn't know yet,” said Cicero nervously, hoping beyond hope that Odahviing didn't think Cicero was any good at planning and decision-making. “Cicero has been gone a long time, he needs to find out what happened while he was away. And then... then he needs to find his sister Eola. She'll help him get his strunmah back. Then... Cicero isn't sure. But he'll think of something.”

“I see,” said Odahviing. “Yol-Ah – she is your _briinahzin_ from Dragonsreach, yes?” Cicero nodded.

“That's her. But Cicero doesn't know where she is, not exactly. Finding her may take some time.”

“Leave it to me,” Odahviing said, sounding rather confident. “She has a Dovah's name, it seems, which Paarthurnax bestowed on her. I can find her, Ziizahro. Give me a day or two, then call me. I will return and tell you what I have found out.”

“You would do that for poor Cicero?” Cicero asked, amazed. Odahviing nodded.

“Of course!” said Odahviing, taking to the sky. “Ziizahro Thuri, you need this done, I can do it, therefore I shall. That is how it will be, hmm? I shall return with news of Yol-Ah, Ziizahro. Lok Thu'um, Dovahkiin.”

Odahviing disappeared, heading to the east. Cicero scratched his head, wondering just how he'd suddenly acquired a pet dragon. Not to mention how Delphine was going to react to that. Well, she'd just have to live with it. Delphine liked men with a spine, right? Right?

Taking a deep breath, Cicero set off down the mountain. Time to go home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

High Hrothgar was as silent as it ever was, but not a Greybeard was in sight. 

“Hello?” Cicero whispered. “Arngeir? Anyone?” He moved quietly through the corridors, hoping to find a Greybeard at some point. No one in the corridor or the hall or the living quarters. He tried the conference room, swallowing a lump in his throat as he remembered sitting around the table with Eola, Esbern and Delphine after the peace summit, blissfully unaware his life was about to go to Oblivion.

All four of the monks were sitting around the table, quietly meditating. One looked up, then the next and then Arngeir was getting to his feet, stunned.

“Can it be?” he breathed. “Dragonborn??”

“Hello,” said Cicero faintly. “I killed Alduin.”

Arngeir rushed over and planted both hands on Cicero's shoulders, actually smiling. “Yes, yes you did, Paarthurnax told us. But we heard nothing else and assumed...” To Cicero's surprise, he found himself pulled into a hug and then let go. 

“It has been a long and tense time,” Arngeir admitted. “It is good to see you alive again, Cicero. We had feared you would never return.”

“So did Cicero,” Cicero admitted. “He was hurt in the final battle. But Alduin is dead. Cicero killed him with a Shout. Not one you taught him, no, Cicero breathed fire as Paarthurnax taught him. But Alduin is gone and the world will not end.”

“Yet,” said Arngeir. “The world will not end yet.” He took a seat and motioned for Cicero to sit down. “So tell us then. Tell us of Sovngarde, and of what happened after you left here.”

So Cicero did. He told them everything, from the dragon trap to Skuldafn to Sovngarde itself, to meeting his mother again and the Nord Tongues and fighting Alduin alongside them, finally killing him and nearly dying himself, and then waking up in Sovngarde, weak but going to survive.

“It took Cicero time to recover, but he managed it in the end,” he finished. “So they've sent him back here, to find his Listener and persuade her to love him again. Cicero isn't really sure how he's going to do this or if it's going to work, but he has to try. If she still spurns him, well he can always throw his life away heroically doing something else insane and go back to his mother in Sovngarde, and that will teach her.”

“A tale well told,” said Arngeir, smiling in approval. “Although if you don't mind, I'd prefer it if you refrained from destroying yourself entirely. I don't think your story is done just yet. I think the world is going to hear rather more from you, Cicero Dragonborn.”

Cicero shuddered at the thought. “Sithis, I hope not. Cicero would quite like to leave the glory to others and get on with his life, thank you very much!”

“Well, if glory's not to your liking, there's always infamy,” said Arngeir with a sigh. “Knowing you, I have a feeling it'll be a mix of both.”

“Infamy, infamy, they've all got it in for me!” Cicero giggled. “Hee! Did you see what I did there? A joke, a funny joke!”

“Yes, Cicero, I get it,” said Arngeir, sounding weary already. “Well, Cicero, what were you planning to do next? Anything in particular?”

“Well,” said Cicero, sounding very serious all of a sudden, “Cicero is getting a bit tired of all this adventuring and death and fighting. Cicero was thinking of settling down, staying here and spending the rest of his days in contemplating the glory of Kynareth.”

Arngeir froze, a muscle under his right eye starting to twitch. Cicero waited for precisely three seconds before bursting out laughing, howling in delight as he slapped his thigh, tears rolling down his face.

“Ahahahaha! AHAHAHAHA! FOOLED YOU! Oh, you should have seen your face, Arngeir, it was such a picture. No no, Cicero is not staying here. Cicero has a Listener to win back and a sister to find and he needs to find out what's been happening since he's been gone. He hopes he's not missed anything interesting.”

“I'm afraid I can't really tell you,” said Arngeir, his joy at seeing Cicero returned already fading. “We don't get many visitors and we hear little of the world below. But I do wish you well. While I can't say I approve, I do see that she makes you happy. So I hope your quest is successful.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Cicero cried, getting up and preparing to take his leave. As he turned to go, he looked back at Arngeir, one last question on his mind.

“Arngeir,” he said thoughtfully, “Cicero met Jurgen Windcaller in Sovngarde, and he said I had found the path of wisdom. I told him that wasn't true at all and that I was just a simple fool and he told me that realising I was a fool was how to become wise. What did he mean by that?”

Arngeir paused and looked at Cicero very carefully, trying to work out if this was a trick question or not. “I think,” he said at length, “he simply meant that we are usually wiser than we think but that even the wisest of us can be fools sometimes. You can never really learn anything until you admit you don't know it.”

“Cicero could learn anything then,” said Cicero cheerfully. “Unless it's to do with sneaking or stabbing, he's already very good at those.” He tilted his head, pondering. “Does Arngeir think Cicero is wise?”

Arngeir fell silent for a good minute, considering this one carefully.

“I'm not entirely sure yet,” he said finally. “But it's not really a matter of wise or foolish. Wisdom is a path, not a fixed state. What matters is that you are making the journey.”

Cicero nodded, satisfied with that. It would do, as answers went. He didn't think he'd make a very good wise man. Much more fun being the Fool of Hearts. And the Fool of Hearts had a long road ahead of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cicero left the monastery, making his way down the path. Once the building was behind him, he steeled himself, reached out and cast a spell. Best to get this over with.

Lucien shimmered into life, dagger drawn. On seeing Cicero was alone, he sheathed it, those cold eyes sweeping over Cicero. Cicero pulled his armour closer and stared at his feet, blushing. How a Dark Brother in disgrace was meant to meet that pitiless gaze, he had no idea.

“Keeper.” Lucien's voice sent shivers down Cicero's spine, as always.

“Sir,” he whispered. “I'm sorry. Don't call me Keeper, I'm not any more. The Listener threw me out.”

“I know,” said Lucien, moving closer. A ghostly hand settled on Cicero's shoulder. “You should be thankful the Sacrament was not performed. As it is, you have defied Delphine only, and not the Matron herself. This time, at least.”

Cicero whimpered, still staring at the ground. This was as bad as he'd thought. Maybe worse.

“I'm sorry,” he sniffled. “So sorry. I didn't mean... I didn't mean for you to get bonded to someone who's not even a proper Dark Brotherhood member any more.”

Silence. Lucien's hand left Cicero's shoulder and caressed his face. Cicero moaned softly, leaning into it.

“Lucien,” he whispered. “Oh Lucien. I don't deserve you.”

“No, but you are stuck with me, as I am with you,” said Lucien, not unkindly. Cicero glanced up nervously to see Lucien actually smiling.

“Lucien?” Cicero whispered, not sure whether to take this as a good thing or not. A smile from Lucien Lachance could mean he liked you or could mean he was about to stab you. Or both. 

“It is good to see you again, Cicero,” said Lucien, and for once the coldness in his eyes faded a little. “Last time you summoned me, in that Nord ruin, you were... not yourself.”

“No,” said Cicero, closing his eyes and leaning into the chill of Lucien's hand. Oh yes, Sithis yes, this was what he'd missed. Never mind the fellowship of Sovngarde and the love of his mother. Cold hands on his skin and the roughness of someone who very definitely did not love him, this was what Cicero wanted. “Oh Lucien, Cicero was not well. His mind was playing tricks on him and he didn't even know what was real any more. But he thinks he does now. Cicero is sorry. So sorry. He just... he just wants to go home and be the Listener's again, if she will have him. He cannot kill Paarthurnax but he was thinking maybe if he killed someone else she doesn't like instead, she might forgive him?”

Lucien said nothing, just standing there and cupping Cicero's cheek. Cicero said nothing, just standing and waiting. 

“The Dark Brotherhood does not do forgiveness,” Lucien growled at length. “And frankly, Delphine has already been far too merciful in the past. But she is Listener, who am I to argue. You, on the other hand, are a disobedient little boy in dire need of discipline.”

Cicero inhaled sharply, feeling his cock go hard at the mere mention of the word discipline. Oh yes, yes please, thank Sithis, it had been so long since someone had taken him properly in hand. If it wasn't to be Delphine, he'd take Lucien's punishments.

“Sir,” he whispered again, and next thing he knew he was being pushed back against a rock face and Lucien was kissing him, stubble against Cicero's cheek and cold lips against his own as Lucien pressed against him, chilling him to the bone. Cicero felt his knees go weak as he happily gave in. He'd missed Lucien. Cold as the grave but oh so good, hard cock up against Cicero's own and Cicero was making little keening noises as Lucien's tongue forced its way into his mouth and Lucien's hands pinned his arms to the rock face. Finally, Lucien broke off, eyes glittering at him.

“When you and I get off this mountain and can find somewhere warmer and with more privacy, you can expect to be bent over the nearest hard surface and spanked until you're weeping for mercy, boy,” Lucien said, glaring at him.

“Sir,” Cicero breathed, shivering from far more than just the cold. “Oh yes, sir.” He looked back at Lucien, starting to smile. “Lucien missed poor Cicero?”

“You were gone!” Lucien snarled, face twisting in rage. “Gone beyond Sithis' domain, gone where the Night Mother could not see. You'd passed beyond this world into Anu's dominion and none of us knew if you even lived! Had you died out there, Shor would have claimed you and you would have been lost to us forever!”

Cicero blinked, staring at Lucien, unused to seeing such emotion. Lucien was normally so calm and controlled. Even angry, he was usually colder than this.

“Lucien was worried?” Cicero asked, scarcely daring to believe his ears. “Lucien feared for poor Cicero's safety?”

Lucien did not answer, still glowering back at Cicero.

“You are an ill-disciplined and defiant little brat,” said Lucien finally. “But your heart is still true. Let us get off this mountain.” Without a word, Lucien turned and walked off. 

Cicero grinned, cackling to himself. He still had Lucien, and in an hour or so, he might well have a sore backside and a few marks to show for it as well. Sithis, but it was good to be back among his own kind. He'd not realised how much it had taken out of him, having to pretend, or looking into someone's eyes and being honest only to see disappointment reflected back. Sovngarde had been a beautiful dream, but Cicero couldn't sleep forever. Now he was home, and he had a brutally sadistic assassin to torment him, a heartbroken sister to find and reassure and most important of all, a Listener to win back. Cicero sung and danced all the way down the Throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gents, the Fool of Hearts is back. Much as it was fun making him suffer, he's so much more entertaining to write when he's cheerful.
> 
> The 'infamy, infamy!' is not mine, it's from the film Carry on Cleo. It just popped into my head when Arngeir mentioned the word and seemed like exactly the sort of clever wordplay Cicero would love, so in it went.
> 
> Next chapter is Cicero putting into action Operation Win Back The Listener.


	36. Cicero's Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cicero's back in Skyrim, but still needs to win Delphine's affections back somehow. Before that though, he needs to track down Eola, and she's got a confession that might derail everything. And what sort of peace offering could possibly be impressive enough to persuade a Blade to overlook her Dragonborn's dragon buddies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE ARE NEARLY AT THE END FOLKS! This chapter, then one more, possibly another to wrap things up with, then an epilogue and we're done! I hope you've enjoyed the ride. This chapter has been a long time in the works and all in all, I'm pleased with it. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings for spanking, anal and man-on-man action.

Cicero eased onto the bar stool at the Vilemyr, wincing as he sat down, balancing his weight on his thighs. He'd paid for hot stew and strong mead, and both were now in front of him, awaiting his consumption. Bed had also been paid for, and Lucien was making himself at home in the room while Cicero fished for gossip.

Lucien had been true to his word and hauled Cicero off to a nearby cave. After dealing with the bears, Cicero had been told to drop his trousers and bend over a nearby rock. The resulting beating had gone on for some time, the stinging cold of Lucien's palm alternating with heat as blood flowed to his poor abused buttocks. Cicero had wept and howled and then Lucien had slid two of those dexterous fingers into Cicero's arse, and Cicero's mind had exploded from sheer pent-up want.

“Oil... in my pocket,” he'd managed to get out. It had been massage oil really, for use with Delphine, but it would do for other purposes. Lucien had retrieved it, lubed him up and then Cicero had howled in delighted agony as Lucien had slid that ghostly member into Cicero's backside, pinning him down and moving slowly in and out, filling and stretching him, using him without mercy. Cicero had whimpered and begged, babbling anything that came into his head, anything at all as long as Lucien didn't stop. Finally Lucien had grabbed Cicero's own cock, ordering him to come now if he wanted to at all, because Lucien wasn't about to allow him to pleasure himself later. Cicero had writhed in Lucien's grip, thrashing around and almost sobbing as he'd come, seed spilling all over the rock and Lucien's hand. Lucien had smirked in satisfaction as he'd withdrawn, tucking himself away and standing back while Cicero collapsed, done in.

“You did not come,” Cicero whispered. 

“No,” came the response. “I think you need my company a bit longer, hmm?”

Cicero could have cried, but he didn't. “Yes, Lucien,” he'd gasped. “Thank you, Lucien.”

Now here he was in the inn, getting fussed over. Cicero liked getting fussed over.

“Are you all right there, Cicero?” Lynly asked, sweeping up next to him. “You're not injured, I hope?”

Cicero shook his head. “Oh no, no, Cicero is not injured – well, he took a knock earlier fighting a bear, but he is quite well, not to worry. Sweet Lynly is very kind to ask though.”

“Well, you're a very kind man yourself, for dealing with our ghost problem!” she laughed, blushing. “And you tip well and you're always so polite!”

“Hear, hear,” Wilhelm agreed as he served Cicero his stew. “World needs more like you, Cicero, it would be a much better place for it.”

“Oh, now you are making poor Cicero blush!” Cicero giggled. “Stop it, both of you, a man can only take so much flattery. Tell me of the latest news. Cicero has been travelling in the wilds of Morrowind for weeks, he has heard very little of world events. Has anything interesting happened?”

“Interesting?” Wilhelm cried. “I should say so, my friend! The Dark Brotherhood, they're back! And... they killed the Emperor himself!”

“The Emperor!” Cicero gasped, hiding his face behind his hands to hide his glee. She'd done it, Delphine had done it! That first contract from that meeting with Motierre – and she'd done it. Cicero could barely contain the joy and the pride threatening to burst out. His beautiful Listener had killed an Emperor, and when Cicero next saw her... well, he'd have to see, but if she was at all amenable, he'd be throwing himself at her feet in adoration. Maybe he'd do it anyway.

“That's right,” said Wilhelm, despairing. “They crept on board his ship in the middle of the night, a whole army of them, and killed everyone! They say it was drenched in blood and the bodies were piled up in heaps. The same night, another group of them attacked Dragon Bridge and swept through the town. It was the Penitus Oculatus outpost they wanted but they killed anyone else in their way too. These are dark times, Cicero. Dark times indeed.”

“Yes,” said Cicero softly. “They are. It sounds,” _wonderful_ , “terrible. For such a thing to happen, right here in Skyrim. Is there a new Emperor yet?”

Wilhelm shook his head. “No, that's the worst thing. The Elder Council are trying to keep order, but there's infighting and factions forming. I don't think Cyrodiil will last long before civil war breaks out.”

Cicero did feel a little sad at that. Cyrodiil had suffered so much already, it didn't need any more war or violence.

“What of the war here?” he asked. “Does Skyrim have a high king or queen yet? Or does the High Hrothgar Accord still stand?”

Wilhelm just laughed at that. “That treaty? Lasted about a month. Then the Forsworn killed the Jarl of the Reach, rioted and took over. Their leader, Madanach, is king there now.”

“They say he's like a wild animal,” Lynly whispered, but whether it was horror or fascination, Cicero honestly couldn't tell. “They say he married a Hagraven and then killed her, and that he eats the flesh of his fallen enemies!”

_No, that's his youngest daughter who does that,_ Cicero wanted to say, but thought better of it. Still, he couldn't help but smile. Eola must be so pleased and proud. But a month after he left – around the same time Eola had been at the Throat, fighting her way through the cold to seek out Paarthurnax. Why was she there, if her father had finally taken the Reach? Wouldn't she have wanted to be near him, guarding him if nothing else? It made no sense, especially as this Forsworn uprising had Delphine's fingerprints all over it.

“Ulfric Stormcloak can't be very pleased about that,” said Cicero. “Wasn't Thongvor Silver-Blood one of his Jarls?”

“You really have been out of Skyrim, haven't you, my friend?” Wilhelm laughed. “Not pleased? The man invaded. He's there now, laying siege to Markarth. Says he has a score to settle. Hope you weren't planning to head out that way. Place is a war zone. General Tullius is invading from the north claiming Ulfric's breached the High Hrothgar Accord, Ulfric claims there was no breach as Madanach's not an Imperial supporter, and then there's the rumours that Madanach's made a secret deal with Tullius. I don't even know what to think. At least there's not been many dragon attacks.”

“Dragons lost their leader too,” said Cicero, sipping his mead. “The Dragonborn faced the World-Eater and killed him. They're not going away, but they're also going to be too busy fighting each other to give too much trouble.”

“The World-Eater – oh come now!” Wilhelm laughed. “The world might be going mad, but Alduin himself?” His laughter died as he saw the intense look in Cicero's eyes.

“Believe me or not,” said Cicero with a shrug. “But Alduin is dead. Cicero knows this is true.” He returned to eating his stew, thinking that dear Wilhelm should count himself lucky Cicero liked him, or Ivarstead might find itself in need of a new innkeeper...

“Well, if you say so, I'll believe you, but it's a far fetched thing to report,” said Wilhelm dubiously. “But less dragons can only be a good thing. Here, let me get you another mead. You're nearly done with that one.”

Cicero assented, all the while tucking in to his stew and pondering what he'd learned. Madanach as Reach-King was good, but the Reach turning into a war zone – that was bad. Very bad. Sky Haven Temple was remote and hard to find, but what if Stormcloak troops attacked and took over the Karthspire camp? What if they decided to explore the ruins and found their Sanctuary? Cicero shivered just to think about it, but there was nothing he could do until morning. His quest to find Eola and rejoin Delphine had just got that bit more urgent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following day, Cicero left the inn, a little hungover from the mead but some fresh air and exercise and a cure poison potion would soon sort that out. It took a few hours but he was soon out in the Rift, off the road, away from prying eyes and ready to see if Odahviing had anything for him.

“OD-AH-VIING!” he Shouted. For a few minutes, nothing – and then Odahviing was there, wind whipping through the trees and the ground trembling as the dragon touched down. Lucien had sworn loudly and dived behind a tree, slowly emerging as he saw Cicero approach the dragon with his arms outstretched, wrapping his arms around the beast's snout and clearly cuddling it.

“For Sithis' sake,” Lucien snarled. “Not another one! How many more dragons are you going to befriend?”

Cicero ignored him, smiling sweetly at the enormous beast. “Pay him no attention, Odahviing, he won't hurt you,” he cooed. He turned to Lucien, glaring. “Lucien, be polite. This is Odahviing. He's my dragon. He used to work for Alduin, but now Alduin is dead and Odahviing wanted a new overlord. So as Cicero killed Alduin, now Odahviing helps Cicero.”

“And have you thought how you are going to explain this to Delphine?” Lucien sighed. “She threw you out over one dragon, she's not going to want to take you back if you turn up with another.”

“Tough,” said Cicero stubbornly. “Odahviing's my lovely Dovah, aren't you? My beautiful Dovah with fine red scales and great big teeth!”

Odahviing obligingly yawned, bearing said teeth so Lucien could appreciate them too.

“Dovahkiin,” Odahviing said, eyeing Lucien carefully. “Why is there a ghost following you? Did you bring him back from Sovngarde?”

“No, no!” Cicero laughed. “He was already bound to Cicero before that. Odahviing, this is Lucien Lachance. He is Cicero's brother. Cicero calls him at need and Lucien helps him.”

“Your actual brother? Or a _zeymahzin_?” Odahviing asked cautiously. Assassin and Dovah were staring at each other, neither exactly comfortable with the situation but neither willing to outright attack either. 

“Oh no, not a zeymah-sos, no,” Cicero laughed. “Lucien has been dead for two hundred years, but I was taught a spell to summon him. Has Odahviing heard of the Vul Zeymahhe?”

Odahviing had not. “Ziizahro, I was dead for many years longer than that,” said Odahviing. “These Vul Zeymahhe, I know nothing of them.”

“Nothing?” Cicero cried, shocked. “Well, we must remedy that! Dear Odahviing has heard of Sithis the Volbormah at least?”

“Indeed,” said Odahviing, shrugging. “But we Dov, we pay him little mind. We are the undying children of Akatosh, why would we fear the Volbormah? Not unless we die at a Dovahkiin's hand...” He looked at Cicero anew. “You follow the Volbormah?”

Cicero nodded, gleeful. “Oh yes! We are Sithis Incarnate! We are led by the Night Mother, the Monahvulon, the undying spirit of the lover of Sithis. She hears the prayers of those who wish another sent to the Void and she tells those prayers to our Huzrah, Delphine. She instructs the rest of us and we kill them!” Cicero's eyes blazed with unholy joy as he contemplated the Brotherhood's dark mission. Sithis, aside from those bears, he'd not killed anyone since he got back! He'd have to do something about that soon.

“The Huzrah is your Thur,” said Odahviing, understanding. “You and your brothers and sisters, you kill who she tells you to.”

“Yes, yes!” Cicero cried. “Only... Cicero was bad and refused to kill Paarthurnax when the Listener told him to. So he was banished. But he intends to win his place by her side back! He just needs to find someone else to kill instead, someone she doesn't like. The Monahvulon doesn't care about dragons dying, they don't go to the Void when we kill them. It is only Huzrah Delphine Cicero needs to win over.”

“Yes, a Listener who used to be a Blade and who hates dragons,” said Lucien tersely. “I'm sure she'll just love you turning up with this... Odahviing.”

“And why would she not love me?” Odahviing purred. “If she wants joor to die, she need only ask. I am not a child of the Volbormah but I have no problem sending mortals to him. If you are a Vul Zeymah, following the path of the Monahvulon, I will happily join you.”

Cicero turned to Lucien in triumph. “See? See? Odahviing will join the Dark Brotherhood! Delphine will have to accept him if he's one of us!”

“She will have to do no such thing!” snarled Lucien. “She is the Listener, she can decide if someone is a member of the Brotherhood or not!”

“But if Cicero swears him in, he is safe until Delphine officially casts him out, yes? That will buy us time, time enough to convince the Listener that having a dragon in the Brotherhood will be a good thing, yes?”

“New members of the Brotherhood can only be sworn in by an existing member in good standing, which you assuredly are not!” Lucien shot back. Cicero just shrugged.

“Then Cicero shall find a brother or sister of his to administer the oath for him. Speaking of which, did Odahviing find Yol-Ah?”

Odahviing grinned, teeth bared. “I did indeed. She's in the North, in a small settlement by the sea. There's a bay with boats, a ruined tower on the headland to the east, and lots of wooden buildings that would go up nicely were a Dovah to set light to them.”

“Dawnstar,” Cicero breathed, recognising the place immediately. But why would Eola be there? “Are you sure? She was definitely there last night?”

“She was,” Odahviing confirmed. “She could not answer like a Dovah, but I sensed her spirit when I called. Come, Ziizahro. I shall take you there. Let us find you your _briinahzin!_ ”

Cicero needed no further encouragement. Odahviing lowered his head for Cicero to perch on and Lucien, seeing that Cicero was not going to be talked out of this insanity, was forced to climb on behind. Once his passengers were safely aboard, Odahviing took to the air, flying north, bound for Dawnstar.

~~~~~~~~~~

Odahviing dropped them off by the road, just to the south of Dawnstar.

“They will not want a Dovah in their town,” Odahviing told them. “I will find a safe place to hide and wait for your call when you are ready to leave. You will need to visit the town on your own and ask questions. Someone must have seen her.”

Not if Eola didn't want to be seen, but Eola wouldn't have had anywhere to stay other than the inn, surely? Even if she'd left, someone would have remembered her taking a room there. She might even be there still. Cicero could only hope. Taking his leave of Odahviing, he ran towards Dawnstar, Lucien in pursuit.

The Windpeak Inn was more crowded than usual, the townsfolk on edge and falling silent as Cicero walked in. Something was clearly up. 

Cicero headed for the bar, trying to avoid the stares, and approached the bartender. Thoring, was it? Cicero hadn't spent a lot of time in the inn while he'd lived here, but it had been a good place to buy food. 

Lucien had elected to wait outside while Cicero investigated. So Cicero was in here, alone, with lots of wary townsfolk staring at him. It wasn't promising, but Cicero steeled himself anyway. He settled himself at the bar and ordered a drink.

“I remember you,” said Thoring, passing Cicero an ale. “You were here a few times in the summer. Put Rustleif to a lot of trouble to get that horse and cart for you. Hope you're not here to cause trouble. Dawnstar's had enough of that.”

“No, no, Cicero is just passing through,” said Cicero. “Has there been some sort of trouble? Only Cicero notices that everyone seems a little on edge...”

“Aye, so would you be if your Jarl had just been murdered the night before!” Thoring cried. He lowered his voice on seeing half the inn looking at him. “I – I'm sorry, it's just, it's not something you expect to have happen in a place like this. I know Skald wasn't always the best liked, but even he didn't deserve to have that happen to him.”

“Why, what did happen?” Cicero asked, wide-eyed and guessing exactly what Eola had been doing out here.

“It was... horrible,” said Thoring, shuddering. “Skald, his housecarl Jod, and the Stormcloak commander Frorkmar Banner-Torn, all murdered. Cut to pieces and looking like someone had taken a bite out of them. Happened while a dragon was menacing the town, a big red one flying overhead and shouting. Didn't actually attack but while the guards were all out watching it, someone crept inside the White Hall and did... that! The guards say they'd never seen so much blood.”

Definitely Eola's work. She'd been here... but where was she now?”

“Do they know who it was?” Cicero breathed, just about managing to conceal his excitement. Thoring shook his head.

“No, no one's got any idea. I tell you who it was though – the Dark Brotherhood. Sneak inside, slaughter everyone, get out without being caught? Had to be them. They killed the Emperor – they can manage a Jarl. Brina Merilis has taken over as acting Jarl for now. She's doing her best to reassure people, but everyone's on edge. What if someone else is next?”

“If it's a Brotherhood kill, there won't be any more, not just yet,” said Cicero. “Sounds like it was just Skald they wanted dead – the housecarl and Stormcloak maybe got in the way.”

“Aye and if I offend the wrong person and they call a contract down on me?” Thoring shivered. “Ah, but you're probably wanting food or a room or something, aren't you?”

“Actually, Cicero is here looking for someone. A friend of his, a young woman, about twenty five, this high, Breton, short blonde hair, blind in her left eye, red war paint over it. Have you seen her?” Cicero asked hopefully.

“Yes, I know her,” said Thoring thoughtfully. “She was here a few months back, visited old Silus's museum, then came back with some Nord friend of hers. They went off with old Erandur the priest, but we've not seen any of them come back. I don't think you're likely to see them again. I'm sorry, friend.”

Damn. So she'd not stayed in the inn then. Well, probably you wouldn't if you were planning to kill a Jarl. But Eola wouldn't just turn up, sneak in and kill them all, she'd need somewhere nearby to stay and observe – after all, she wouldn't have known Odahviing was going to turn up and provide a distraction. So if you knew no one in town, where would you stay?

Cicero finished his ale, tipped Thoring for the information and left the inn. He had a few ideas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Museum of the Mythic Dawn had been deserted and the interior covered in dust. No one had been there for weeks. Nightcaller Temple wouldn't even open – it was locked tight and Cicero had no key and nothing close to the lockpicking skill needed to get the door open. Which only really left one option.

“Dawnstar Sanctuary,” said Lucien, approving. “I wondered when you were going to try that. I stayed there as a young assassin visiting Skyrim, you know. Dark. Dank. Shadowed. Truly a Sanctuary to call home.”

“Cicero did for a while,” Cicero said softly. “Eola knows of it, Cicero told her. But not the passphrase. Cicero didn't think anyone else knew it. But he will try.”

So they made their way down to the beach, Cicero half crawling, half falling down the steep slope behind Nightcaller Temple to the beach below. The Black Door looked just as he remembered it.

“What is life's greatest illusion?” it asked. Cicero and Lucien both grinned and responded in unison.

“Innocence, my brother,” they chorused. The door swung open and they walked in.

Inside, the Sanctuary hadn't changed much. It seemed a little cleaner than Cicero remembered though. Surely it would be more cobwebbed and dusty after so long abandoned? That was until he got to the little study area where he used to rest and sleep and realised it had been ripped out and turned into a forge and workshop area. Cicero rubbed his eyes. How... who? Delphine, could only have been her, but how... Slowly it dawned on Cicero that he'd written the passphrase in his diary, a diary he'd thought well hidden. He felt his skin grow cold as he realised Delphine had found it and read it, and had clearly sent people up to reclaim the Sanctuary for the Brotherhood. Oh Sithis, what else had she read in there? He had to assume all of it, all his dark history laid bare, all his foolish ravings, all his babbling about how much he loved and desired her. Sweet Night Mother. She must either love him or hate him after that. But there was no help for it. He'd brave a little embarrassment for her sake, and she'd known most of it anyway. He'd not kept much from her. He just hoped she'd not shown it to Eola.

He made his way further down the corridor, up on to the balcony overlooking the common room. Off to one side was what looked like a shrine to Sithis, with candles and flowers and a tablet with the names 'Festus Krex * Gabriella Drakyrten * Veezara Shadowscale' and the words 'In Memoriam Aeternitas' underneath. A memorial to three of Falkreath? What on earth had happened? Dropping into a sneaking crouch and motioning for Lucien to do the same, Cicero crept forward as he heard voices floating up from the kitchen.

“Still think you should have waited, sister.” Nazir the Redguard. Another Falkreath assassin here. Why?

“Why? I wasn't going to get a better chance than that, and Del wanted him dead anyway.”

Eola. It was her, it was her! Cicero felt his heart sing. She'd gone back to Delphine, made up with her, rejoined the Brotherhood... and taken up with Falkreath to settle out here. Why? Why would Eola leave the Reach? Unless she was just here to sort out a contract and then go home. But with the Reach at war, Eola might not be able to.

“Yes, but this soon?” The unchild, Babette. “Delphine's not dealt with Ulfric yet. What if he retakes the Reach and comes here?”

The thud of a tankard hitting the table. “Ulfric is not going to retake the Reach!” Eola shouted. “Da is going to link up with Tullius' troops and put the Stormcloak in his grave, that's if Delphine doesn't get there first, which we all know she will!”

“Hey hey hey. Easy there,” said Nazir soothingly. Cicero crept to the top of the stairs to see all three of them sitting around a refurbished kitchen with a large stained glass window to Sithis dominating the room and Brotherhood banners draped all over the place. Eola had her back to him, firelight reflecting off her hair and Shrouded robes as Nazir placed a hand on her shoulder.

“No one thinks Delphine's not got things well in hand down there, and I for one don't think Ulfric's going to take Markarth any time soon, not with the city well fortified and half the Forsworn in the Reach defending the place. I trust the Listener to have something planned, and I'm sure killing Skald a little early won't derail it. Will it, Babette?”

Babette, sitting just out of Cicero's field of vision, took Eola's hand in hers.

“I'm sure it'll be fine, Eola. I didn't mean to worry you, I know you're worried about your father.”

“I'm worried about all of them,” said Eola softly. “But thanks, you guys. You're awesome.” She smiled back at them both. Cicero could barely believe his eyes. Falkreath and Karthspire assassins as friends. Who would have thought it?

Slowly, he got to his feet and began making his way down the steps as quietly as possible. It wasn't quite quietly enough. Babette's sensitive vampiric ears heard him and she spun round, hands raised with Vampiric Drain at the ready. Eola's reflexes weren't bad either, as she immediately cast her mage armour and raised Destruction magic in both hands, kicking her chair back as she turned. Nazir was on his feet, scimitar at the ready.

All of them froze to see him. Cicero carefully raised his hands, fists clenched in a sort of hybrid of the Imperial gesture of surrender and the Forsworn display of peaceful intent.

“Cicero!” Babette gasped. “You're back! Did the Listener send you?”

“Not exactly,” Cicero admitted. He looked hesitantly at the three, Babette surprised but seemingly pleased, Nazir grimacing but no longer hostile and Eola... Eola had gone pale and was visibly shaking as she lowered her hands. Cicero wasn't sure if she was pleased to see him or not.

“Sister?” he whispered, slowly approaching her. “It's me. Cicero. I – I came back.”

She had a hand over her mouth and there were tears glittering in her eyes. 

“You're alive,” she managed to get out. “You're not dead. Are – are you really here?”

Cicero looked down at himself. He seemed real enough, but he patted himself down and pinched his arm to make sure. He felt real, but could never entirely be sure.

“I think so, sister. Lucien, I'm alive and really here, aren't I?”

“Yes, Cicero, you are,” Lucien sighed, emerging into the firelight. “Eola. It is good to see you again.” Lucien's eyes fell on Babette and he actually smiled. “Greetings, my sister. It has been a long time.”

“Lucien!” Babette laughed, rushing to hug Lucien. Ghost and vampire moved off into a corner to have a private conversation, while Nazir suddenly and mysteriously found something to occupy himself with over near the cooking pot. Leaving Cicero and Eola facing each other.

“Cicero,” Eola whispered, slowly moving forward. “It's... I... old gods, I can hardly believe it...”

“Believe it, sister,” said Cicero, uncontrollable smile spreading across his face. “It's really me.”

“Cicero,” she cried again, and then she'd closed the distance and was in his arms, clinging on to him and hugging him so hard he could hardly breathe. Cicero didn't even care. Picking her up, he swung her around, cackling in delight at seeing his favourite sister again. She was holding on, likewise squealing until he finally put her down and looked at her properly. She was smiling, wiping the tears away.

“You did it!” she sniffled. “You killed Alduin!”

“I did, I did!” Cicero laughed. “I went to Sovngarde and killed him! With arrows and shouting and stabbing and fire! And you! You killed the Emperor!”

Eola laughed. “Not me, babe. Mama Del. Her and Babette there snuck on board the Emperor's ship and killed 'em all.”

“All of them? Everyone on board?” Cicero gasped. Eola nodded. 

“Oh hell yeah. I heard the lower decks had so much blood spilled, the boat nearly sank.”

Cicero closed his eyes, shivering in awe at that mental image. “Oh _sister._ Sister, our Listener is truly a killer beyond compare.”

“Yeah,” said Eola, a happy little smile on her own face. “Yeah, she surely is.” A shadow flitted over her face and she turned away. “Come on, sit down. We've got a lot of catching up to do, hey?”

“We do,” said Cicero, joining her and accepting the mead she poured out for him. “Such as telling humble Cicero why Delphine opened this place up. Why are the three of you living here?”

So Eola told him of how their first attempt on the Emperor's life had gone wrong, and how Maro had sent the Oculatus to burn out what he thought was the only Sanctuary in Skyrim – Falkreath. Cicero listened in horror as she told of their frantic ride across Skyrim and of getting there too late to stop it but in enough time to intercept and save Astrid, Arnbjorn and Nazir from the flames. Cicero, veteran of not one but two lost Sanctuaries, was shaking and pale by the end of it. 

“So Delphine gave Astrid this place,” he said softly. That explained the memorial upstairs. Eola nodded.

“Yeah, and half the cash from the successful attempt as weregild. Astrid's had the place done up a bit, as you can see.”

Cicero had seen. He was impressed indeed.

“And now there's another contract or several on the go. Tell me, sister, is it pure coincidence that the Forsworn have taken over the Reach and killed one of the Stormcloak's Jarls to do it, and now you're here murdering another one?”

Eola looked up, grinning fiercely. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Well now, sister, Cicero thinks that Delphine the Talos worshipper has had a terrible and regrettable falling out with the Stormcloak Jarl and wishes to kill him, which is why she's murdering his allies. Either that, or someone is offering her a large amount of money to sort the Skyrim Civil War out.” Cicero looked at Eola, grinning himself, sure there was a story here. He wasn't wrong.

“You guess correctly, my brother. Turns out us killing the Emperor has caused a bit of trouble in Cyrodiil, which means General Tullius wants to take the Legion home to sort it out. Of course, he can't do that until Ulfric's taken care of, so guess what he wants us to do.”

Cicero threw back his head and laughed. “Oh sister, that's wonderful! So of course Delphine has said yes and brokered a secret arrangement between Madanach and Tullius whereby Madanach gets to be king if he recognises the Empire – oh sister, that's genius. Genius!” Cicero sighed happily, smiling as he imagined Delphine hosting a conference and dictating terms. He wished he could have been there. His fierce, talented Listener, rewriting history. “My Delphine,” he said softly. “My lovely Delphine. Oh sister, she's so clever, you know. Cicero wishes he was that smart. He does love her so very much. Sister?” He looked up to see Eola smiling bitterly, tears in her eyes again.

“Yeah,” said Eola softly. “Yeah, she's a fucking wizard of scheming and cunning. I know.”

“Are you alright?” Cicero asked, concerned. “Sister? Don't cry, please! Did I say something wrong?”

Eola dried her eyes, looking away. “No, no,” she sighed. “It's fine. I know you love her, it's all good, really.”

Cicero patted her hand, still a little concerned but knowing when not to push things. “So Delphine arranged a secret peace deal, encouraged Madanach to murder the other Silver-Blood and lead an uprising, and now she sent Eola here to kill Skald the Elder to make way for a Jarl who supports the Empire. Cunning!”

Eola was staring at her hands, breathing very heavily, eyes closed as if in pain. “Not exactly,” she said softly.

“Not exactly?” Cicero asked, worried. Something was clearly bothering her, something she didn't want to talk about. She looked almost guilty, but surely not, very little ever bothered Eola's conscience for long.

“She never asked me to come here,” said Eola, still not meeting his eyes. “She doesn't even know I'm here. I left, Cicero. I ran away. I just couldn't face her after what happened, and couldn't stay in the Reach, looking at the Karthspire every day, so I came here. I knew Skald had been marked for death, so thought I'd scout the town and take care of him, deal with any other contracts that might come in too.”

“You ran away?” Cicero gasped. “But why? What happened? Did the two of you fight? Did something bad happen? Was it – was it because of me? Were you still angry at her for banishing me? Oh sister, that is very loyal of you, but please, don't be angry with her, it was all Cicero's fault...”

“I'm not angry with her!” Eola cried tearfully. “I forgave her for that weeks ago! No, I – I'm in love with her. Gods, have been for ages, but you and she were so wrapped up in each other I never thought it would ever go anywhere. Then you were gone and you said you weren't coming back and she was lonely and needed someone and then she came up with a way for my father to get the Reach back and... and I ended up kissing her and...”

“You kissed my Listener,” said Cicero, his voice low and dangerous and every thought process he had glowing red and furious. “You. Kissed. My Listener.”

Eola's eyes grew wide as the blood drained from her face. Casting her mage armour, she got up and backed away, hands raised to defend herself.

“Cicero. Hear me out, it's not...”

“You little _HARLOT!!!_ ” Cicero shrieked, drawing his dagger and leaping for her. Eola hastily cast a frost spell at him, slowing him down a bit, but it was Lucien sprinting across the kitchen and wrestling him into submission that actually stopped Cicero from murdering her on the spot. Nazir likewise had dropped everything and raced to Eola's side, scimitar drawn and his own body between Eola and Cicero. Babette looked appalled, watching from a distance as Nazir and Lucien pulled the two apart.

“Not another move, Keeper!” Lucien shouted at Cicero. “Put the knife away! We do not murder our siblings!”

Cicero struggled in Lucien's grip, still waving his dagger around.

“You knew what she meant to me, you knew!” he howled, maniac's eyes fixed on Eola, who despite the frost in the palms of both hands, was shaking all over and looked terrified.

“Cicero,” said Nazir firmly. “Put. The dagger. Down.”

Slowly, something like sanity returned to Cicero's face. Very slowly, he lowered the dagger and sheathed it.

“You knew,” he repeated bitterly. “You knew how I felt. Sister, how could you?” He turned in Lucien's arms and buried his head in the ghost's chest.

Eola crept out from behind Nazir, no longer afraid but not terribly relieved either. Folding her arms, she just watched, her face a mask.

“You don't need to worry, Cicero,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “She turned me down. She said no... because she's still in love with you. She's still head over heels for you, watching and waiting, hoping and praying that one day her Dragonborn will come home. So you don't have to worry about a thing. Get your arse over to Karthspire, bring a big fuck-off peace offering with you, grovel at her feet unashamedly and she'll almost certainly take you back. Go on, go. Don't want to keep the Matriarch waiting, do you?”

Cicero bit his lip, feeling his jealousy leave him. Poor Eola, she looked so unhappy. Despite everything, she was still his sister. Still his dear sister, and he still cared for her. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he whispered. It was the news he'd hoped for, but he couldn't run around screaming his head off in joy, not with Eola looking so broken and defeated. He might have stabbed her in sheer rage, but now it had subsided? No, he couldn't hurt her, not now.

“Because one of us might as well be happy,” she said, turning away with a sob, making for the door that led to the sleeping quarters. Cicero felt his heart break at the sight.

“Eola!” he cried, pushing Lucien away and running after her. “Eola, wait! WULD!”

He closed the gap in seconds, crashing into her and catching her in his arms.

“Sister,” he whispered. “Dear, sweet sister, Cicero is sorry, don't go!”

“Don't,” she gasped. “Don't feel sorry for me, damn you! Go back to trying to stab me again, I'd rather that than pity!”

“Eola,” Cicero gasped, suppressing the urge to laugh. “Oh, Eola. Sister mine. Always you have to be the strong one, don't you?”

“One of us should have some emotional stability, shouldn't they?” she muttered, with a dark look at him. Cicero bit his lip, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Yes, she'd kissed his Listener, but he could hardly blame her for loving Delphine, or even acting on it. At least she'd not gone behind his back – he had told her not to expect him to return, after all. She'd even confessed, knowing he'd be upset. Damn it all. He couldn't hate her, not for long. Not his Eola.

He pulled her close and held her, resting his forehead against hers. Slowly but by degrees, he felt her relax just a little as her arms went around him.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I know she means the world to you. I don't want to take her away from you, I really don't. You two are cute together, and she's really happy when you're around, well, apart from that time when Kaie told her you had a five-figure bounty on your head after the whole Cidhna Mine trip, and when you were whining about not being able to breathe fire, but honestly I think both of those were entirely your fault.”

“They were, they were!” Cicero giggled, blushing as he remembered. He also remembered Delphine afterwards taking him in her arms and kissing him, reminding him he was still her beloved Dragonborn when all was said and done. “Does Eola mean it? Delphine still loves her Cicero?”

“Love you?” Eola laughed, still bitter. “She read your journals after she got back to Karthspire, realised you weren't actually going to take over the world with Paarthurnax after Alduin died, and travelled through the night to Whiterun to try and find you. Cicero, she just missed you. If you'd taken just a bit longer to catch Odahviing, or slept in... she'd have found you and probably taken you back that day.”

Cicero's breath caught in his throat. He could have had Delphine back months ago if things had gone differently. 

“I have to find her,” he breathed. Without another word, he let Eola go and ran for the door – or at least he did until Eola grabbed his arm.

“Cicero, you can't just go back to Karthspire and fling yourself at her feet,” Eola cried. “The place is overrun with enemy troops! You'll get arrested as a spy for sure! Even I'm not sure I want to head back out there right now, and at least I could blend in with the Forsworn and get smuggled back in with them! Secondly, she's not just going to take you back no matter how much she wants to. She's Listener and you broke the Tenets. You've got to have a plan. Some way of making it up to her.”

Which was more or less Cicero's original idea, but he still had no idea who or how to murder to try and regain her affections. Still, Eola was bright. Maybe she'd know someone the world could live without.

“Cicero was thinking maybe he could find someone she didn't like and kill them for her,” said Cicero hesitantly. “But he's not sure who. Does Eola think killing the Stormcloak will please her?”

Eola shook her head. “No, she kinda likes Ulfric. She was a bit sad at having to kill him, but said if anyone was going to do it, she wanted it to be her if possible. She won't be happy if you butt in and steal her kill.”

Understandable. Cicero wouldn't have been terribly pleased if he'd got all the way to Sovngarde to kill Alduin only to find some upstart had got there first. 

“Well, who else doesn't she like?” Cicero sighed. “She was a Blade, who don't the Blades like?”

The answer came to both of them at the same time.

“The Thalmor,” both Cicero and Eola said in unison.

“So I need to kill the Thalmor,” said Cicero thoughtfully. A vicious little smile appeared on Eola's face.

“We,” she said. “We kill the Thalmor. I mean, maybe not all of them, but maybe we could sneak into the Embassy and abduct Elenwen and bring Delphine her head?”

Cicero's grin widened. “Why not all of them?” he purred. “We kill Elenwen, they'll just replace her. We slaughter them all and burn their Embassy – that will send a message. It will be some time before they're able to replace all that. Time Delphine can spend not living in fear.”

“And how are the two of us plus Lucien meant to achieve all that?” said Eola. “We're good but we're not immortal. Also it's not just the Embassy. There's a Thalmor prison fort at Northwatch Keep too. We'd have a tough time storming either, never mind both before anyone realised what was happening. They're miles apart, Cicero.”

Cicero's grin didn't even falter. “Come with me, sister,” he laughed. “There's someone you need to meet.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Sweet Namira,” Eola gasped, staring in awe as Odahviing crashed to the ground before her. They were on the beach in the next bay east of Dawnstar, Cicero with his arm in Eola's and Lucien standing behind, looking as if he disapproved of the whole thing.

“Ziizahro!” Odahviing laughed. “You were successful, I see. Yol-Ah Ziizahro-Briinah, it is good to see you again.”

“Er... likewise?” said Eola hesitantly. Cicero was bouncing up and down next to her, looking terrifically pleased with himself.

“Look, look, I have a new dragon friend!” Cicero cried. “Odahviing was so impressed by my killing Alduin, he wanted to pledge allegiance to me, as Cicero is the strongest of the Dov now. So as Cicero is a great admirer of Odahviing, Cicero has accepted.”

“Wasn't your first dragon friend the reason Delphine kicked you out in the first place?” Eola asked. “You put any thought into what she's going to say when you show up with another one?”

“Precisely what I told him,” Lucien put in. “He would hear none of it.”

“Ah, but this is different!” Cicero grinned. “Cicero has a plan! Cicero is not going to hide it and hope Delphine never finds out, no! Cicero is a hero of Sovngarde now and he is going to be strong and decisive.”

“Oh Sithis,” Eola sighed, exchanging a pained look with Lucien. “All right, Cicero, what's the plan.”

“Odahviing is going to join the Dark Brotherhood!” said Cicero gleefully. Eola rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache coming on. 

“Cicero,” said Eola wearily. “Only the Listener can decide who is and isn't in the Dark Brotherhood. She's the Listener. All she has to do is kick him out and you're back to square one.”

“Yes,” said Cicero, “but in the Listener's absence, any Dark Brotherhood member in good standing can swear in a new member and that membership is valid subject to the new member keeping the Tenets until a more senior member decides otherwise. It is the law of the Brotherhood!” Cicero nodded firmly. Eola had a horrible feeling she knew where this was going and turned mutely to Lucien, hoping for a reprieve. Alas, she was out of luck.

“I am afraid he is correct in this at least,” Lucien sighed. “However rest assured the Listener will almost certainly revoke it as soon as she lays eyes on him.”

“Not reassuring,” Eola sighed. “So let me get this straight. You want to get your dragon friend sworn in on a technicality so you can sweet-talk Delphine into letting you both stay before she tells you to get out and take your scaly buddy with you?”

Cicero nodded enthusiastically. “That's right! Well, sister? You'll help your poor, devoted brother, won't you?” He smiled hopefully, sidling up to her and peeping out from under his eyelashes.

“Oh yeah, strong and decisive, good one, bro,” Eola muttered. She turned to Odahviing, sighing. “All right, Odahviing. So are you serious about being Cicero's dragon lieutenant then?”

“Why would I not be?” said Odahviing, surprised at the question. “He has proven his worth. His Thu'um is strong. He freed us from the tyranny of the World-Eater. It is my honour to assist him.”

“But you're a Dovah,” said Eola, recalling a few conversations with Paarthurnax. “Aren't you guys meant to be all about the thirst for dominance? Don't you want to be the boss?”

“Indeed,” Odahviing growled. “But if the dragon in charge is clearly stronger, it would be foolish to challenge him. I am not a fool and have no wish to die. It was not pleasant the first time. Ziizahro Dovahkiin is the strongest of us all. I will serve him willingly.”

“Until he isn't the strongest,” said Eola knowingly. Odahviing inclined his head.

“You surmise correctly,” Odahviing said. “However, rest assured that should anyone best Ziizahro, Ziizahro is unlikely to have survived the experience. Should Ziizahro die, I will take my leave. I would not harm Ziizahro's friends, not unless they attacked me first.”

“See?” said Cicero smugly. “And no one is going to beat Cicero in a fair fight.”

“What about an unfair one?” Lucien asked. Cicero's grin got wider.

“All Cicero's fights are unfair,” Cicero cackled. “Cicero always cheats!”

Well, wasn't that typical Cicero all over. Eola turned back to Odahviing.

“All right. Has Cicero told you who we are and what we do?” 

Odahviing confirmed he had. “I am most interested in aiding an organisation designed for culling the weak amongst the joor,” Odahviing said, sounding a bit too eager even for Eola's liking. “I can assure you I am very good at killing things.”

“Oh I believe you, buddy, I really do,” said Eola. “Did he tell you about the rules?”

“He mentioned something about Five Tenets,” said Odahviing. “What are they?”

So Eola explained, with a little help from Lucien and some rather less helpful input from Cicero, what the Five Tenets were and what Odahviing would need to do to keep them. The dragon listened intently until she finished. 

“So I would be required to treat the Monahvulon with respect at all times, not betray the Dark Brotherhood or reveal its secrets, not kill any members of it, not steal from them and obey anyone above me in the hierarchy?”

“That's it,” said Eola, nodding. “You good with all that?”

“It is no worse than serving Alduin,” said Odahviing. “Tell me, who is the Dovahkiin's immediate superior?”

“Cicero serves the sweet Listener!” Cicero cried before anyone could stop him. Eola sighed and turned back to Odahviing. 

“There you go, bud. You alright with killing who the Listener tells you to, and not killing anyone she doesn't want you to?”

“Dovahkiin?” Odahviing asked, turning to Cicero, who was bouncing up and down enthusiastically.

“Yes, yes, you must, you must!” he cried. “Listener Delphine hears the Monahvulon's words, and we are sworn to obey her!”

“Until she orders you to kill someone you like, then it's apparently wail and complain until she takes you back just to shut you up,” Lucien muttered quietly, but fortunately Cicero didn't hear him.

“OK then,” said Eola, suspecting she was probably going to regret this. “Let's swear you in. Lucien, is there an official oath? Delphine didn't really bother with one with me, but if we're going with the whole 'smuggle a dragon into the Dark Brotherhood on a technicality' plan, we don't want get caught out ourselves, hey?”

Sighing, Lucien stood by Eola and fed her the official oath, which she then administered to Odahviing. The dragon swore quite sincerely to love the Night Mother, serve the Dread Father, keep the Tenets and be loyal to his brothers and sisters in Darkness. When it was done, Cicero capered about, squealing and then leaping on to Odahviing's snout, lying spreadeagled inbetween the dragon's eyes and clinging on, singing happily to himself.

“Brother, brother, Odahviing's my brother!” Cicero chanted. “Who is life's most beautiful Dovah? Odahviing, my brother!”

“Lucien, what have we done?” Eola sighed. Lucien was just staring at the sight of Cicero cuddling a dragon and the dragon seeming to like it.

“I'm really not sure,” said Lucien. “But the Keeper seems happy at any rate. And as Dark Brotherhood assassins go, I have sworn in worse.”

Eola really didn't want to know what Lucien Lachance's definition of worse was.

“Hey Cicero,” she called to him. “So now that we've got a dragon on our side, are we going to go kill some Thalmor or what?”

“Yes!” Cicero cried, sliding off Odahviing. “Odahviing, Odahviing, we have come up with a plan to persuade the Listener to love Cicero again and take him back. Will you help us?”

“What do I need to do?” Odahviing asked, curious. 

“Fly us across Skyrim to Northwatch Keep and kill lots of Thalmor Elves!” said Cicero, eyes alight. “Then fly us to the Thalmor Embassy, kill everyone there and destroy the place! Then take us to Sky Haven Temple to find Listener Delphine and talk to her. Can you do that?”

“Transport you all over Keizaal and kill lots of people?” Odahviing's lips curved back into a frightening smile that showed all his teeth. “Oh yes, Ziizahro. I think you'll find I can manage that quite nicely.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another fine morning in the Reach. Clear skies, sunshine, not even that cold considering it was almost the end of the year. Easy to forget there was a Stormcloak army not two hours away laying siege to Markarth. The Stormcloak siege engines were making life difficult for the inhabitants, but it was hard to burn a city made of stone and the Dwemer-built walls held firm. Not only that but a good percentage of both Karthspire and Dead Crone Rock Forsworn camps were now in the city too, bolstering the defences. The Nords might fling fiery missiles over the walls, but there were Hagravens and Briarhearts and other spellcasters on the walls firing right back. Half the siege engines were already in ruins.

Delphine had somehow managed to persuade Ulfric that she'd known nothing of said uprising and that Eola had said nothing to her before mysteriously vanishing one night and next thing Delphine knew the entire Reach was in uproar. Of course, it helped vastly that Eola had actually vanished without trace the night Thongvor died. Delphine had put out feelers to all her contacts, but no one had seen or heard of her. Eola was gone. Delphine missed her horribly. First Cicero gone, now Eola, and she adored them both. Her Dragonborn and her first recruit, the two eager young faces that had been there as she'd taken her first steps as Listener. Best friends to each other... and both far more than that to her. She regretted turning Eola down even as she knew she couldn't have done anything else. She couldn't just give up on Cicero, and taking someone else as a lover would mean doing just that. Certainly it couldn't be Eola. Not Cicero's best friend. He'd never forgive either of them. She couldn't do that to him... or her.

So here she was, alone. Well, not exactly alone. She was training Aventus in archery. The boy was doing quite well. She'd found him a hunting bow and he was proving not to be a bad shot. Needed practice, but he'd learn. Delphine watched fondly as he hit the inner ring for the third time in a row.

“Not bad!” she told him, smiling. “All right, you're getting the hang of it. Now, try it from further back...”

A shadow swept low over them, blotting out the sun as a cool wind chilled them both. Delphine looked up, heart in her mouth. 

“Inside! Now!” she shouted at the boy, unshouldering her own bow and cursing her luck at being only in her leather armour. “And get Esbern!” she cried over her shoulder as Aventus fled inside. She took aim, determined to go down fighting. The dragon veered away, releasing something from its mouth as it did so. Its burden crashed to the ground near Delphine. As the dragon flew off, Delphine approached warily, katana out. As she got closer, she fought the urge to be sick as she realised it was a corpse. A chewed, burnt corpse in what looked like Thalmor robes. Gingerly, she nudged it with the tip of her katana and rolled it over. The side of its face that was still intact was a face she recognised. Elenwen the Thalmor Ambassador.

What in the name of Talos...

The ground shook as the dragon landed behind her. Delphine spun round, prepared to fight – but the dragon wasn't attacking. It was just looking curiously at her.

“Greetings,” it said, voice deep and rich and sounding like gravel-filled honey. “Have I the honour of addressing Delphine, Huzrah of the Vul Zeymahhe?”

That must mean Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. But how on earth did a dragon know about that?

“Who's asking?” she said, wary. The dragon just tilted its head.

“Forgive me, we have not been introduced, have we? I am Odahviing.”

Slowly, Delphine lowered her sword. She knew that name.

“You're the dragon that took Cicero to Skuldafn.” Odahviing nodded.

“I am. I was told you were Thur-se-Ziizahro, the one who Ziizahro answers to, and that anyone wishing to join the Vul Zeymahhe must speak with you. So here I am, Huzrahi. Well? May I join you?” He looked at her patiently, clearly awaiting a response.

A dragon. In the Dark Brotherhood. Delphine's brain was trying to wrap her head around that one and failing. Who on earth would come up with an idea like that, it was completely insane. Well, clearly there was only one person likely to think of that. Delphine took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Surely not, he couldn't be...

“Who told you that?” she demanded. “Who told you who I was and how to find me?”

There was a movement off to her left, a flash of black and red and then a voice that had haunted her dreams every night but that she'd not actually heard in person since that night at High Hrothgar.

“I did, Listener.”

The world seemed to grind to a halt as she turned to look at the speaker. Cicero. He was there, right there, alive and well and unharmed and breathing and... He was staring at her like a starving man at a steak, eyes wild and hungry but more than anything else, pleading. Slowly he approached until he was only a few feet away, then he lowered his eyes and dropped to his knees, removing the hat and hanging his head, hair falling forward. Behind him, Delphine saw Lucien with his arms folded, acknowledging her with a small smile and next to him... Eola. Eola who met her eyes, smiled briefly then looked away awkwardly. Delphine took another deep breath, hastily looking away. Cicero clearly didn't know, couldn't possibly know or she'd be dead, and Delphine wasn't going to tell him otherwise. Of course, before things got to that stage, she had to find out just what he was doing here, with a dragon who wanted to join the Dark Brotherhood and the corpse of the Thalmor Ambassador. 

“Delphine!” Esbern cried, fire blazing from his hands as he rushed outside. “Are you al-” He stopped dead on seeing a non-hostile dragon, a dead Thalmor and a very much alive Cicero on his knees before her, and promptly lowered his hands. Behind him, Aventus stuck his head out of the door, saw Cicero and ran forward, or at least he did until Esbern stopped him.

“Delphine, what in the name of Talos is going on?” Esbern asked, confused. Well, at least she wasn't actually going mad and this was all happening.

“That's what I'm trying to find out,” said Delphine, staring at Cicero. “Cicero, why is there a dragon in my courtyard wanting to join the Dark Brotherhood and a dead Thalmor Ambassador on the steps?”

Cicero took a deep breath, still not looking at her directly. Still she could see there was a determination there she'd not often seen before on him, not without a fiendish grin anyway. This time, he looked deadly serious. 

“The Listener asked Cicero to kill Paarthurnax and Cicero refused,” he said, the barest hint of a tremor in his voice. “Because Paarthurnax is his friend and his ally. Cicero has not done this... and he never will. But he is sorry for it, very sorry indeed that he cannot do his Listener's will in this. However, he was thinking that the Listener wanted Paarthurnax dead because of his past crimes against humans, particularly the ancient Blades. So as Cicero has failed his Listener by not killing Paarthurnax, he decided that he could give her the next best thing. The Listener wants justice for the deaths of innocent humans and of her Blade comrades. Well, Cicero thinks that the Thalmor have killed just as many of both as Paarthurnax ever did, and they killed people Delphine knew. People Delphine loved. So Cicero... Cicero has avenged them.”

“You crept into the Thalmor Embassy, killed Elenwen and flew here on a dragon?” Delphine asked, stunned and somehow knowing that wasn't what he'd done. Cicero did look up now, the serious look fading as his usual predator grin re-emerged to take its place.

“Oh no, Listener,” he said cheerfully. “Cicero and Eola and Lucien flew to Northwatch Keep prison on Odahviing, killed all the Thalmor there, released the prisoners and then we flew to the Thalmor Embassy, where Odahviing tore the place apart and set fire to it, and Eola, Lucien and I killed _all of them!_ ”

Delphine glanced at Esbern to make sure she wasn't hearing things. He was looking as stunned as she felt. Speechless, she looked at Lucien and Eola for confirmation.

“It's true, Listener,” Lucien confirmed, wickedly evil smile on his face. “We descended on them like the Wrath of Sithis and soaked the ground in Elven blood.”

“Good times! You can see the smoke from here if you look in the right place,” Eola grinned, before remembering things were meant to be awkward between her and Delphine, and lowered her eyes.

“It was _glorious!_ ” Cicero breathed, eyes ablaze with unholy glee, before he remembered he was supposed to be pleading for forgiveness and swiftly dropped his gaze.

Delphine didn't even know what to say or how she was supposed to react. The Thalmor in Skyrim – wiped out. Their Embassy in ruins. All of them, dead. At the Dragonborn's hands, for no other reason than that it might please his Listener.

“You did all that...” she whispered. “For me?”

Cicero nodded, still not looking at her. “Yes. For you, my Listener. Delphine... sweetling... I cannot kill Paarthurnax. It would not be just or fair. But if it is justice or vengeance on the killers of Blades you want, Cicero can still give you that.”

“The Dark Brotherhood doesn't do justice or fairness,” she heard herself say.

“No,” said Cicero. He finally looked up, tears glittering in his eyes despite the gentle yearning smile on his face. “But you do.”

Delphine just about managed to sheathe her sword despite the shaking in her hands and the blurring of her vision. Then she buried her face in her hands, trying desperately to get herself under control before she actually did something ridiculous like start crying.

“Listener?” she heard Cicero say, worried. “Delphine? Oh no, don't cry, please.” She was vaguely aware of him staggering to his feet and then he was there, right in front of her and he was taking her in his arms, holding her and stroking her hair and making little soothing noises as he held her... and she was clinging on to him for dear life, tears rolling down her cheeks, too shocked even to sob. All she could process was that her dear jester boy was alive and back and here in her arms, the smell of his leather armour filling her nostrils and the softness of his hair against her face as she held him.

She was vaguely aware of Eola cheering and Lucien saying disdainfully “Far too merciful,” but she didn't care. He'd just wiped out the Thalmor presence in Skyrim in one night. Of course they'd be back eventually. But right now, Skyrim was free of them and if Paarthurnax got to live, at least she could be sure that the Blades had been well and truly avenged. Cicero had done all that, and he'd done it for her. The gnawing sense of emptiness and helplessness that had been lurking inside her for the past two months finally faded away as she realised he was hers once more. Her Cicero. Her beloved Dragonborn. Home again.

“I missed you,” she whispered. Cicero shivered in her arms and she realised with a pang of guilt that he was crying softly too.

“I'm sorry, Listener,” he wept, so quietly she could barely hear him. “I'm so sorry.”

“You came back,” she said, still not quite able to believe this was really happening, that he was really here.

“Always,” he breathed. “I'll always come back for you.” Delphine clutched him tighter, remembering the first time he'd made her that promise, right after they'd been given the Motierre job. He hadn't even been her lover then, but if his journal had been anything to go by, he'd definitely had feelings. Speaking of which...

“I read your journal. All of it,” she confessed. Cicero winced.

“Cicero is very sorry,” he said guiltily. “He never meant for you to see all that. He hopes you're not offended?”

“No,” Delphine whispered, stroking his hair. “Oh Cicero, it was the most romantic thing anyone's ever written about me. Don't worry, I didn't show them to anyone else – well, I showed part of one to Esbern but only the Paarthurnax entry. No one else has seen them. Didn't even show them to Eola.”

“Please don't,” Cicero said nervously, lowering his voice. “Cicero may have written some rather, er, intemperate things in there about his dear sister...”

Delphine had to grin at that. “Don't worry. She won't find out from me. And speaking of siblings...” She let him go, folding her arms as she recalled that he'd only explained one of the two things he'd brought with him. “Cicero, why have you brought a dragon here to a Temple of the Blades? And... why is he asking to join the Dark Brotherhood?”

Cicero went a little pink at this, giggling nervously. “Oh, but Listener, Odahviing is already in the Dark Brotherhood! Any member of the Brotherhood in good standing can swear in a new member! So we swore him in before going to kill all the Thalmor.”

“You did what??” Delphine shouted, her goodwill evaporating. Honestly, she knew she'd missed him but right now she was having trouble recalling why. Cicero flinched away... but then he did something unexpected. He folded his own arms, frowned and faced her, determined.

“Yes, Cicero made Odahviing his brother,” said Cicero firmly. “Because Cicero likes Odahviing, and Odahviing helped him, both by taking him to Skuldafn and afterwards by helping him find Eola and kill all the Thalmor. Cicero killed Alduin, and Odahviing was so impressed he offered Cicero his services. So Cicero has accepted which means Odahviing is under Cicero's protection now.”

Delphine ran a hand through her hair. She should perhaps have guessed something like this might happen. The worst thing was, she wasn't even sure she could do anything about it. She'd never seen Cicero quite this adamant before. Yes, she could pull rank in theory... but she'd lose him in the process. She wasn't sure she could stand to go through all that again. 

She turned and looked Odahviing over. The enormous dragon was spread out, taking up the entire courtyard and watching her curiously. She'd never seen a living dragon this close before, certainly not one that wasn't trying to kill her. It was surprising just how much intelligence was in those eyes, mixed with more than a little cruelty. So often they just seemed like beasts as they attacked settlements, it was easy to forget they were sentient. Maybe she needed to remember that a little more often. She had a feeling Cicero never forgot, in fact it was becoming very apparent that not only did he never forget that, he saw dragons as people too. Of course, he also had very little problem killing people.

Maybe that was why he got on so well with dragons.

“So, you want to join up, do you?”

Odahviing nodded. “I have spoken with Ziizahro, Huzrahi. I offered my loyalty to him, and he told me his loyalties lay with you and the Monahvulon. After he had explained, I decided that I might be able to assist you and you might be able to offer me... opportunities.”

Delphine could guess what sort of opportunities Odahviing had in mind.

“More opportunities than you could get on your own or taking over where Alduin left off?” she asked. Odahviing snorted, twin jets of smoke dissipating in the air.

“I was caught by joorre like a common beast in a trap,” he growled. “Take over from the First-Born? No Dovah worth having as a follower would follow my lead now. And I would not last long on my own. If my fellow Dov did not hunt me, the joorre would. No, I need allies. Protection. Why would I not seek the protection of the strongest of us? Ziizahro's Thu'um is mighty and I have assisted him before now. I will go where he follows, and his path leads to you.”

“Not joining up with Paarthurnax then?” she asked. Just to make absolutely sure that Paarthurnax definitely wasn't forming his own army or anything. This time, Odahviing actually laughed, rolling on to his back.

“Hahahahaha! HAHAHAHA!” Odahviing roared. “Oh that is funny, Huzrahi. Tell me another.”

“Odahviing!” Cicero shouted. “Do not laugh at poor Paarthurnax!”

“Sorry, Dovahkiin,” Odahviing grinned, calming down sufficiently to reply. “I have much respect for the Old One, of course. But if he had his way, we would all be sitting on top of our mountains singing to the sky or meditating on the Rotmulaag or praising the glory of Kaan or whatever he does with himself all day. That is no true path for a Dovah! We are the children of Akatosh, lords of the sky! We hunt, we kill, we feast on our enemies, we shed their blood and kill them with fire! That is what it means to be Dov, Huzrahi. Ziizahro understands this, and that is why I choose to follow him. If following him means submitting to the will of the Monahvulon, then so be it.”

Which was exactly why the Akaviri had come to Tamriel to exterminate the last of the dragons, to make the world a safer place for humanity. The whole reason there was a Dragonborn. Delphine had to laugh at that. The gods had played a cruel, cruel joke by gifting the dragon blood to Cicero. The world was arguably safer with dragons in the skies than it was with the Dark Brotherhood prowling the streets. But she couldn't turn back now. Far too much blood on her hands to be welcome anywhere else. In a way, she was in the same situation Odahviing was – following the Dragonborn because there was nowhere else for her to go. At least she'd walked into the trap with her eyes open.

It went against everything she believed in, but then murdering innocents wasn't exactly what she'd dreamed of doing as a child either. Now here she was feeling sorry for a dragon.

“I take it Cicero explained about our organisation and about the Tenets,” she said. Odahviing nodded.

“He was most informative, he and his friends Yol-Ah and Lo-Sah-In. They have told me much. I am not to harm any of my new brothers and sisters, I am to kill who you tell me to and only who you tell me, and I will not disrespect the Monahvulon. You need not worry about theft or betrayal either. I would not last long without protection.” He looked around the Temple courtyard approvingly. “This is a good strunmah. I can see why Ziizahro missed it.”

“It wasn't the Temple Cicero missed, brother,” said Cicero, fingers entwining with Delphine's. Delphine squeezed his hand, returning his smile. If she was going to be Listener, she might as well do it with the Dragonborn at her side.

“All right,” said Delphine, already thinking how she might make use of a dragon assassin. Happily, one use was already forming. “There's certain criteria new recruits must fulfil before I can approve their membership. Firstly, they must have already proven themselves to be killers without remorse and have at least one murder in their past – well, you're a dragon, we'll take that as a given. Secondly, once we've approached them and they've shown willingness to join and abide by our rules, we send them out on a job to see what they're made of. Just so happens I've got a little job that would be ideally suited to a dragon's talents.”

“Delphine, are you out of your mind?” Esbern cried. “He's a dragon!”

“I'd noticed!” Delphine shouted back, rolling her eyes. Honestly, she loved Esbern dearly but really he had no idea the sort of pressure she was under to produce results.

“We're Blades!” Esbern said sternly. “Have you forgotten your oath? It's one thing to decide not to hunt a dragon who's no threat, but hiring one??”

Delphine let go of Cicero's hand, told Odahviing to excuse her and walked over to where Esbern was glaring at her.

“I've not forgotten my oath, Esbern,” said Delphine. “To protect, guard and serve the Dragon Blood. Well, I can't protect, guard or look after Cicero if he's walked out on me because I won't have his pet around, even if it is a dragon. So I'm sorry, Esbern, but the dragon stays until or unless he breaks the rules.”

“Delphine, the Oath of Allegiance has its limits!” Esbern cried. “I think you can be forgiven for throwing out a Dragonborn who not only befriends dragons but brings them home!”

“Not by me, I couldn't,” said Delphine, closing her eyes. “Esbern, I lost any right to judge anyone else or present myself as some paragon of virtue when my sword went through Titus Mede's chest. So Cicero's new best friend is a dragon, so what? His other best friends are a Daedra-worshipping cannibal and the ghost of an unrepentant murderer. We are the Dark Brotherhood, Esbern. We're not Blades, not really. We don't make the world safe for humanity, we're the ones in the shadows making it worse. At least they'll see a dragon coming. I'm sorry, Esbern. But Odahviing is staying. I can't lose Cicero again, I just can't.”

Esbern sighed and lowered his eyes, resigned.

“Well, he did kill all the Thalmor, I suppose. Just take care, Delphine. Dragons aren't trustworthy creatures, and this one's only with us because he has to be.”

“That's how I started out with Cicero,” Delphine said with a smile. “Now look at us.”

“Cicero's not a dragon,” Esbern pointed out. Delphine glanced over her shoulder to where Cicero was now sitting on the ground next to Odahviing, leaning against the huge dragon's cheek and cooing over his scales.

“Not on the outside, no,” said Delphine. “But inside... inside he's a trueborn Dovah all right. Given that, I think it's better for everyone if I keep him where I can see him.”

That Esbern had to concede was an excellent point. Sighing, he gave in. Delphine smiled, thanked him and went to gather her assassins. Cicero and Eola were sitting down, both leaning up against Odahviing, with Lucien across from them.

“All right, brothers and sisters, gather round. Now I said we have a contract to work on, and it's another big one, I'm afraid. Cicero, did Eola fill you in on what she knows?”

“She did, she did!” Cicero giggled. “We're going to kill Ulfric Stormcloak! Cicero is so pleased! Sovngarde is a nice place, Ulfric will like it there.”

“Quite,” said Delphine. Some people visited the afterlife and experienced a spiritual awakening that made them resolve to be a better person. Trust Cicero to visit it and experience a spiritual awakening that made him resolve to kill even more people so they could go there and experience it for themselves. “General Tullius is paying us a large amount of septims to win the war for him, and we're going to do just that. Part of the deal was an independent Reach as run by Madanach – well, we've more or less achieved that, once Ulfric's army is sent packing anyway. We also need to secure the Pale and Eastmarch. Now, I've got Aranea off in Windhelm with Calixto and Sapphire, mingling with the citizens of Windhelm, gathering information, identifying an Imperial-sympathising successor Jarl and ensuring that when the news of Ulfric's demise reaches the city, the transfer of power takes place as peacefully as possible and that nothing unfortunate happens before the Legion can get there. I have Nazir and Babette up in Dawnstar ready to take out Skald the Elder for me.”

Cicero raised an eyebrow at Eola who coughed nervously.

“Er... actually, he's, um, kinda dead already. See, I was up there hiding out with them, scouting the place out, and then this big dragon flies overhead, circling the town, drawing every guard in the place after it, shouting 'Yol-Ah! Yol-Ah!' at me and sending shivers down my spine. So I ran inside the Hall to get away from it and happened to find the Jarl and his housecarl as the only two around...”

“That's where you were hiding!” Delphine realised. “So you killed Skald already. In that case, I owe you money. And that dragon...” She looked up at Odahviing.

“It was me,” Odahviing grinned. “Ziizahro wanted to find his sister and it's easier for a Dov to search than a joor when there's an entire country to cover.”

“I thought so!” Eola laughed. “Well, it's a good thing you were there. Thanks, bro.”

“You're welcome, sister,” Cicero began to say, up until Eola nudged him in the side.

“Wasn't talking to you, I was talking to Odahviing!” She patted the dragon's side, leaning up against him. Delphine smiled despite the tugging at her heartstrings. It was harder than she'd thought to have Eola here again, especially with Cicero here as well and the two of them clowning around like neither had ever been away.

“OK, so the Pale's already sorted out,” said Delphine firmly. “Which just leaves us with a rebel Jarl of Windhelm to kill and a siege of Markarth to relieve. All of which just got manifestly easier thanks to our new friend here.”

“Ooh!” Cicero cried. “Are we going to swoop down on the Stormcloak army and slaughter them all? Please say yes!”

“Yes,” said Delphine, feeling her heart leap as Cicero shrieked and threw himself on her, declaring her the best Listener ever. Delphine caught him and held him as he slid on to her lap, cupping her face in his hands and claiming her lips. Delphine could feel herself melting, giving in as she pulled him to her and began kissing him back. Sithis, but he felt so good, so right in her arms. She'd missed him so much – couldn't believe he was finally here again. Soon, soon they'd be doing the Night Mother's will together – and more than that afterwards when she finally took him to bed again. But first, the preparations. She broke off the kiss, smiling as he nestled against her, as happy as she'd ever seen him.

“All right, here's what we need to do,” she said. “It's nine am now. Cicero, I need you and Lucien to fly up to Windhelm and deliver a message to Aranea for me. Just tell her we're doing it today, and she's to be ready. Then get back here and pick up Eola. Eola, get rid of that corpse, get some rest, be ready for Cicero when he returns with Odahviing. At midday, all three of you get on Odahviing's back, fly to Markarth, touch down in the middle of the Stormcloak camp outside Ulfric's tent and start killing everything that moves. Odahviing, can you fly from here to Windhelm and back in three hours?”

Odahviing just looked rather pityingly at her. “All right, forget I asked,” said Delphine. “Right, assassins. Let's go kill a Jarl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - epic bad-assery from start to finish! Excited? You should be...


	37. Hail Sithis!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ulfric's laying siege to Markarth, blissfully unaware that the Dark Brotherhood have been laying siege to him. With the Dragonborn back and the Family reunited, it's time to show the world what they're made of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. Last chapter apart from the epilogue! Are you excited? I am.

Ulfric roared in fury, picking up a tankard and hurling it across the tent. The courier who'd brought him the unwelcome news hastily ducked out, taking that as a dismissal, and Ulfric sat back down in his chair, seething. Moments later, one of his bodyguards slipped in to see what the fuss was about. Ulfric wasn't even aware of her until she was a foot away.

“Wha- what?” he snapped. “Did I send for you?”

“Forgive me, my lord,” she replied, the soothing cadences of her voice calming Ulfric down a little. “We heard you shouting and thought one of us should check on you. Don't worry, my husband is still on watch. No one is getting past him in a hurry.”

Ulfric smiled a little at her confidence. He liked her. Efficient, competent, extremely knowledgeable on all aspects of guarding against possible assassination, and her husband wasn't exactly a fool either. True Nords, both of them, and an asset to the Stormcloaks and indeed Skyrim. He had no idea where Delphine had found them both – she'd said they were a married couple working as freelance mercenaries but a recent injury to the wife had led them to seek somewhat less constantly violent employment while she recovered. He had no idea what the injury was, but she seemed fine from where he was standing. The bearskin garb suited her.

“Forgive me, Astrid,” he said. “I've had some unsettling news from the Pale.”

“Unsettling how?” Astrid asked, sounding concerned. “Nothing too serious, I hope, I have Family in Dawnstar.”

“Skald the Elder's been murdered, along with one of my commanders,” said Ulfric, his heart heavy. “The new Jarl's Brina Merilis, an ex-Legionnaire. She's not even a Nord. Another Hold I'll have to waste time and men retaking. Astrid, tell your family to either flee Dawnstar or join us now. It won't be pretty.”

“I will,” said Astrid softly. “I'm so sorry, my lord. Skald had been Jarl forever, I can hardly believe he's dead. Do we know who killed him?”

“No,” said Ulfric, his face sombre. “But they're saying Dark Brotherhood. I'd be a fool not to be concerned. I laughed when Delphine told me my life might be in danger, you know. I only took you and Arnbjorn on as bodyguards because she looked so worried, I didn't want to upset her. Now though – good thing I said yes, hmm?”

“Indeed, my lord,” said Astrid. “Don't worry, no one will get past us. We know how the Brotherhood work. If anyone can stop them, Arnbjorn and I can.”

“I don't doubt it,” Ulfric laughed. “Well, you should probably get back to your post. Don't want assassins sneaking in while your back's turned, do you?”

For some reason, Astrid seemed to find that idea hilarious. “I assure you, my lord, there's very little chance of that,” she laughed. Still smiling, she took her leave and went to rejoin her husband.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Today?” Tullius asked. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” said Delphine, still exhausted from the hard ride it had taken to get here. Even with Shadowmere, it had still taken nearly an hour and a half to get here. Not long given Odahviing would be on his way back from Windhelm by now, and she needed to ride down to the Stormcloak camp outside Markarth. “By sunset tonight, Ulfric will be dead, the Stormcloaks will be annihilated, and Madanach will be swearing loyalty to the Empire. But I'll need your help to make it happen.”

“You want me to help lift the siege, don't you?” Tullius sighed. “What happened to a minimum of bloodshed?”

“This is the minimum,” said Delphine firmly. “Come on, you're right here in the Reach. All I need is for you to have your troops ready to attack the Stormcloaks and in position by midday. Then, well, just wait for the signal.”

“And the signal is what, exactly?” Tullius asked. Honestly, the Dark Brotherhood he knew just took the money and the target's details and got on with it. None of this requesting assistance business. Mind you, he supposed most clients didn't have an army at their disposal.

“A giant red dragon landing in the middle of the Stormcloak camp and laying waste to it,” said Delphine.

“A what??” Tullius cried. Behind Delphine, Rikke walked in to the tent, having heard a woman in Blade armour had turned up and not wanting to leave the General alone with the Dark Brotherhood's leader if she could help it. 

“What's going on?” she asked.

“I was just outlining the final phase of the job to the General here,” said Delphine smoothly.

“She says she's going to land a dragon in the midst of the Stormcloak camp and wants us to attack while it's there!” said Tullius, fully expecting Rikke to dismiss the idea as ridiculous and ask Delphine to leave. She surprised him.

“Really??” Rikke breathed, looking at Delphine in a whole new light. “You can do that?”

Delphine just smiled. “The Dark Brotherhood can do anything if it needs to badly enough. Yes, we're going to drop a dragon on Ulfric. Along with a few human assassins to make sure he doesn't escape in the chaos. We need you to attack at the same time to make things interesting.”

“Oh, consider it done!” Rikke laughed. “I wouldn't miss that for the world!” She stopped and looked sheepishly at Tullius. “Er, with your approval, of course, General.”

Tullius sighed, still trying to get his head around the concept of being able to arrange or predict a dragon attack. 

“All right, fine, I'll get the men ready. But if midday comes and goes and there's no dragon, they're not going anywhere.”

Delphine smiled. “Thank you, General. I promise you this will be a day to remember.”

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Ulfric looked up, expecting Galmar or possibly Astrid fussing again. He'd not expected Delphine.

“This is an unexpected surprise,” he said, watching her curiously as she made her way over. She looked tense and more than a little unhappy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“There's a Dark Brotherhood contract out on you,” she said, with no preamble or warning. Well, Ulfric had suspected that much from the way his Jarls had been wiped out. No matter. He'd deal with the bastards when they struck.

“And?” he asked. “Am I supposed to be afraid? Let them come. Astrid and Arnbjorn are more than a match for them, and I am not easy prey.”

Delphine smiled, her eyes sad. “I know. But they're coming for you. I don't think you'll win, not this time. They're strong. And you've been betrayed.”

Ulfric tried to ignore the prickling sensation on the back of his neck. “There are no traitors in my camp. My people are true Nords all. None of them would betray me.”

“No,” said Delphine softly, drawing her katana. “They wouldn't. It's me, Ulfric. I betrayed you. I've been the leader of the Dark Brotherhood since just after the Dragonborn was first called. Astrid and Arnbjorn are two of my assassins and they're busy right now ensuring no one interrupts while I get this over with.”

“You are not serious,” Ulfric whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face. He saw the look in her eyes, the sadness there and knew it was true. Fortunately his own sword was at hand, an ebony one with a powerful leeching enchantment on it. It had killed a High King. It would kill the Brotherhood's leader just as easily, even if she was a friend. Had been, he corrected himself. She had been a friend. Now, she was just an enemy.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, curious. It wasn't like the Brotherhood to announce their presence after all.

“Because I still have some honour left,” said Delphine with a shrug. “And because you deserve a shot at Sovngarde. Cicero tells me it's nice.”

“Yes,” Ulfric growled. “But I think you'll be seeing the afterlife first. FUS RO DAH!”

The Shout sent Delphine flying, crashing into the tent's central pole and slumping to the ground, dazed by the impact. She shook her head, willing her vision to hurry up and clear. Of course, that did mean she could now see Ulfric advancing, sword out and ready to strike.

“Did you forget you were up against a warrior with the Thu'um?” Ulfric laughed. “Did killing merchants and old men and drunks make you overconfident?”

“That old man was an Emperor,” Delphine gasped. “And have you forgotten I'm married to the Dragonborn?”

Ulfric raised an eyebrow. “You married the madman? Allow me to congratulate you both. Sad you'll be parted so soon – I'll make sure to send him some weregild.” He swung his sword down – and Delphine's katana deflected the strike.

“I haven't made it official yet. But you can consider the Dragonborn mine,” she said, rolling to one side and staggering to her feet, bracing herself for the next blow. Ulfric hit back, again and again, forcing her back as she parried, until she was right at the side of the tent.

“Where is your Dragonborn now?” Ulfric gloated, raising his sword to strike her down. It was at that precise moment the ground shook and a dragon roared. Outside, Delphine heard Astrid shout “What in the name of Sithis – oh. It's you. She's in there.”

“That'll be him,” said Delphine calmly. “I recommend ducking.” She threw herself to the ground not a moment too soon.

“ ** _FUS RO DAAAAHHHH!!!!_** ” It wasn't Cicero. The hurricane gale of Unrelenting Force as used by someone who'd never needed teaching any Shout tore through the tent and send it flying, leaving them exposed to the air. Ulfric staggered back, only partially protected by his own knowledge of the Shout. Blinking, he looked up to see one of his two elite bodyguards drawing that odd dagger of hers and chasing down some of his men while screaming “Hail Sithis!”, the other changing into a werewolf, Madanach's daughter in red and black armour and a Forsworn headdress blasting magic at anyone who came close, a ghost stabbing one of his soldiers and moving on to the next before she even knew she was dead, and the Dragonborn himself, dual-wielding two blades, one golden fiery one and his lightning katana, and staring wild-eyed at Ulfric, looking absolutely delighted.

“Ulfric!” Cicero giggled. “Cicero has good news! You're going to see your father again!”

Ulfric barely noticed. All his attention was focused on the red dragon at Cicero's side. The beast was smiling.

“He's all yours, Odahviing!” Delphine cried. Odahviing chuckled and leaped forward. Ulfric tried to strike back, but the angle was wrong and the sword barely scratched Odahviing's scales. Odahviing did not make the same mistake. Snatching Ulfric between his teeth and biting down, he took to the air. Ulfric's screams got fainter as the dragon soared into the sky then stopped abruptly as the dragon wheeled above Markarth and abruptly let him fall. A hundred foot drop on to a solid stone city would not have been kind and in the highly unlikely event of Ulfric surviving that, the Forsworn garrisoning the walls would certainly finish the job. 

Cicero ran to her side, helping her to her feet.

“Listener,” he cried, eyes dancing with joy. “Did we do well?”

Delphine looked at him, bloodthirsty, insane, beautiful and hers, all hers. Her Dragonborn. 

“Yes,” she laughed. “Yes, you were perfect. Cicero, I still need something from you though!”

“Anything, Listener! Anything you like!” Cicero said cheerfully, dancing on the spot, utterly unfazed by the chaos and death rapidly erupting around them as four assassins set to work and the first ever dragon member of the Dark Brotherhood came back for another pass, breathing fire all over the place.

“I need a Keeper!” Delphine cried, raising her voice to be heard above the carnage. “For me, not the Night Mother! Want the job?”

Cicero stopped dancing, balancing on one foot and somehow managing not to fall over.

“Listener... is serious?” he asked, seemingly disbelieving. Delphine nodded, suddenly feeling nervous. What if he'd changed his mind? An awful lot of things had happened since then, and while she didn't doubt Cicero's loyalty or his love, he didn't seem anything like as needy since his return.

She needn't have worried. Next thing she knew, Cicero had launched himself into her arms and was kissing her, fingers entwining in her hair as he squeezed her tight. Finally he let her go, looking almost delirious in his joy.

“Yes!” he cried. “Yes, I'll be your Keeper! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” He kissed her again and then let her go, taking her hands in his.

“Thank you,” he said, grinning all over and simultaneously looking like he was about to cry. “Delphine, sweetling, Cicero loves you and – and – he'll be the best Keeper ever!”

“I love you too,” said Delphine, stroking his cheek. “Now let's get off this battlefield. I think the reinforcements just turned up.”

Sure enough, Imperial banners were visible in the distance as a tide of red swept down the Karth valley and into the Stormcloak camp.

“Brotherhood!” Delphine shouted, pausing only to pick up Ulfric's dropped sword. “After me! Make for Markarth!”

It was difficult to be heard above the din, but Eola and Lucien had been briefed on the plan beforehand and Astrid soon followed. Arnbjorn, given over to the beast as he was, was a harder prospect, but even a beast still recognises its mate and on seeing Astrid retreating, he finished ripping apart the Stormcloak officer he'd been dealing with and loped after. 

The six of them, one jester, one Blade, one ghost, one Dark Brotherhood assassin making full use of her Stormcloak outfit to get close to her victims, one werewolf and a Forsworn princess cheerfully raising corpses and blasting people out of her path with a Daedric artefact, carved their way through the Stormcloak ranks, dodging dragon fire and Imperial arrows, leaving a trail of death and devastation in their wake. Many would be the traumatised Stormcloak war veterans in the months and years to come who at least would never need to buy a drink again as they told the tale of grown men ripped to pieces or cut down before they knew what killed them then rising to turn on their former comrades, or death descending with a smile and a laugh and a song of “when the jester met dear Ulfric, a dragon's fire was the murder culprit! Heeheehee!”

It was all going quite well until they reached what had been the Stormcloak front line but was now more like the Stormcloak last stand. Arnbjorn took the lead with Lucien, Astrid just behind with Cicero and Delphine falling in next to her, and Eola bringing up the rear, laughing and shrieking Forsworn battle cries with the odd invocation to Namira thrown in. It was going well right up until Galmar Stone-Fist surged out from the melee, chasing up from behind.

“Skyrim belongs to the Nords!!!” he roared, battleaxe raised. Eola turned from dealing with the soldier she'd been roasting alive and raised her hands too late. The axe sunk into her back and she collapsed to the ground, blood spurting everywhere. 

Delphine had also turned just in time to see her fall.

“NO!” she shrieked, racing back. Before Galmar's axe could fall a second time and finish the job, Delphine's katana stabbed into his chest and the ebony sword from Ulfric into Galmar's gut. Galmar didn't even stand a chance as Delphine hacked him to pieces without mercy. She kept slashing at him until Astrid grabbed her arms, hauling her back and telling her, yes, great kill, he was definitely dead, leave it and run!

Delphine nodded tearfully, turning to look at Eola. Her eyes were fluttering, blood was everywhere and she looked horribly pale. Cicero had dropped back to kneel next to her, his own face pale. Slowly he looked up and Delphine couldn't even begin to work out what was in his eyes. He looked devastated – and then he seemed to rally.

“Listener, go,” he said. “I'll bring Eola. SOS FRON DAAL!”

Delphine hadn't heard that Shout before, had no idea where he'd learnt it, and was amazed to see the ghostly figure of a Legionnaire materialise. A rather short, female Legionnaire who, when she turned to the oncoming Stormcloaks, grinned in a way that made her look exactly like Cicero.

“Fight me, will you??” she cried. “The mother of a dragon? YOL TOOR SHUL!!!”

A jet of ghostly dragon fire came from her, halting the Stormcloaks in their tracks. Delphine could barely believe her eyes, but there was no time. Astrid was dragging at her arm, Arnbjorn was clearing a path for them up ahead and Lucien had dropped back to help Cicero. All she could do was fight on and hope the Dragonborn knew what he was doing.

Cicero stared down at Eola, heart in his mouth. The wound was deep, her skin was growing cold, he was losing her and even Hag magic wouldn't fix this. But a Daedra might... He slipped Namira's Ring off his finger and on to Eola's and reached for Galmar's corpse, dragging the arm to Eola and patting her cheek in an attempt to rouse her.

“Look, sister, fresh-killed Nord! Your favourite!”

Eola stirred at the smell of blood, especially when Cicero sliced the arm open for her. Whimpering, Eola began to eat. Cicero felt tears in his eyes as the wound began to heal and Eola's strength returned. Stelmaria and Lucien were fighting side by side, keeping the enemy off them, Odahviing was circling overhead with dragon fire toasting the unfortunate, and they were within firing range of the city walls now too, with Forsworn casters sending fireballs everywhere. When one passed a little too close for comfort, Cicero decided enough was enough and scooped Eola up in his arms. The wound might have healed, but she'd lost a lot of blood and was still very pale.

“I hadn't finished!” Eola cried.

“Hussy, we're going,” Cicero hissed. “Satisfy your depraved cravings later. WULD!”

The Whirlwind Sprint swept them forward, and a Shout of “WULD NAH KEST!” brought Stelmaria alongside then in front of them, her sword dealing with anyone daring to get in the way of her precious son.

“That's not Lucien,” said Eola faintly. “That's a lady. Who's she?”

“My mother,” said Cicero proudly, frankly in awe of the way she was carving up the few Stormcloaks still standing after Arnbjorn, Delphine and Astrid had passed through. 

“You've got a ma?” Eola gasped, astonished. “I thought you'd just hatched one day and emerged in your jester outfit, ready to kill things!”

“Oh be quiet,” said Cicero, rolling his eyes as Markarth's gates loomed up ahead. Astrid and Delphine were huddled in the stone porch, shaking the doors while Arnbjorn stood guard against any Stormcloak foolish enough to come close. The defenders on the walls were screaming abuse at those who did. Stelmaria stabbed one Stormcloak in the back, hit another with her shield, and Cicero took a deep breath and breathed fire all over a whole knot of them blocking the way. Lucien had also caught up by this time and with a few flicks of his dagger had left one poor man disembowelled and drowning in his own blood. 

With the ghosts following, Cicero broke free and sprinted across the no man's land before the gates to where Delphine was waiting, Astrid by her side with Blade of Woe at the ready. As Cicero raced up the steps, he heard the sweetest sound he'd ever heard – Madanach's voice from the battlements above screaming, “OPEN THE GATES – HE HAS MY DAUGHTER!”

The gates swung open. Astrid ripped off the bearskin helmet, correctly deducing that a Nord in full Stormcloak commander get up would not exactly be terribly welcome in a Forsworn run city, and ran in, fists clenched in the Forsworn peace gesture. Arnbjorn, his beast form fading as he shifted back, sprinted in after her. His Stormcloak gear had been left behind when he changed – of course, that did now mean he was stark naked. He didn't seem to care. 

Delphine was standing at the gate, hand held out.

“Is she all right?” she cried. Cicero forced himself to smile.

“She lives. Her goddess healed her.”

Delphine did smile a little at that. “Well, that's appropriate. In, both of you.”

Cicero ran inside to find Astrid and Arnbjorn surrounded by unamused Forsworn warriors and one very big Orc.

“You've got some nerve coming into our city dressed like that, Nord,” Borkul growled at Astrid. To her credit, she glared right back.

“I was undercover!” Astrid snapped. “If you could possibly find my Shrouded Armour, I'll happily get changed!”

“Let them be, they're with me,” said Delphine, coming up behind them as the gate clanged shut. She came to stand next to Cicero, one hand on his shoulder but her attention was on Eola as her other hand stroked her face.

“You're alive. Thank the gods,” Delphine gasped, smiling in relief.

“Mama Del,” Eola whispered back. “Thank Namira and Cicero, they saved my life.”

Delphine did look up then, turning that smile on Cicero. “Thank you, Keeper mine.”

“You're welcome,” said Cicero, although he felt anything but welcoming right then.

“Delphine!” That was Madanach, down from the walls and rushing towards them. “Why is there a naked man and a Stormcloak woman in my city? And Eola, sweet gods, Eola, are you alright?”

“Da!” Eola gasped, reaching out to her father. Madanach might be getting old, but he was no weakling, as proved by him taking her off Cicero without breaking a sweat.

“Madanach,” said Delphine brightly. “We've killed Ulfric. These two are with me. Have you still got that chest of Shrouded Armour I left you to look after?”

“Sure, sure, it's in the inn. Borkul, get these two inside and into something a bit more appropriate?”

Borkul growled and motioned for the two assassins to follow him into the former Silver-Blood Inn, now renamed the Hag's Rest. Madanach hesitated for a second, Eola still cradled in his arms.

“Thank you, Delphine,” he said. “For all of this. I don't even mind the siege, I'm just...”

“It's alright,” said Delphine softly. “You're a good friend and I owe you for protecting our Sanctuary. I just think a Reach-King can do a better job, that's all.”

Madanach did smile at that. “When this is all sorted and my city set to rights, come see me again, you and your man here. I might have a proposition of my own for you. In the mean time, make yourselves at home. I've got a daughter to tend to.”

He turned and followed Borkul into the Hag's Rest, stopping only to make way as Astrid and Arnbjorn raced out, looking far more like themselves in their Shrouded Armour, masked cowls hiding their Nord features, bows at the ready, presumably intending to join the archers on the walls.

“Hail Sithis!” some of the Forsworn called out cheerfully as the two assassins passed them.

“Send some Stormcloaks to the Void for us!” called another.

Astrid turned to Arnbjorn. “I really like this city!” she purred.

“We'll have a second honeymoon here,” Arnbjorn promised. “Now let's get up those stairs and get some killing done.” He squeezed Astrid's bottom, and the Dark Brotherhood Speaker actually squeaked.

“You naughty boy,” she laughed, running off, her husband in tow. Delphine smiled and took Cicero's hand in hers. He looked up at her, smiling faintly, but his eyes looked half-dead. Now that was worrying. Eola was safe and likely to survive, they'd all made it back safely, and the job was done. She'd expect him to be chin-deep in post-kill euphoria by this time. Squeezing his hand, she led him inside the inn.

Once in, she picked her way over the makeshift infirmary that had been set up in the main room and after a few false starts, finally located an empty bedroom. She closed the door and turned to look at Cicero.

“Are you alright? You don't look so good. After all that blood and death, I'd expect you to be singing and dancing non-stop around now.”

Cicero was standing with his arms folded, leaning against the table. Slowly he lifted his eyes up to meet hers, and he looked heartbroken.

“Eola told me,” he said, his voice rough and haggard. “She told me how she felt about you. She told me she'd made... advances.”

Delphine felt her skin prickle, a chill sweeping down her back. Eola had told him?? What had possessed her? And how on earth had Cicero had sufficient self-control not to stab her? More than that, they were clearly still friends.

“But you just saved her life,” Delphine whispered. “And earlier... you were all over me. Why...?”

“Why didn't I lose my temper and stab her, you mean?” Cicero laughed bitterly. “Oh Listener, I nearly did. But I calmed down in the end and forgave her. She is a brazen little Listener-stealing hussy, but she is still Cicero's sister.”

Well, that was something. But while Cicero may have forgiven Eola, it didn't look like he was going to be so charitable with her.

“Cicero, I swear, I don't know what she said, and she did kiss me, it's true,” said Delphine, starting to panic. She couldn't lose him already, not her darling Dragonborn. She'd only just got him back! “But I turned her down. Cicero, I'm in love with you, it's you I want to marry! You're my Dragonborn, my Keeper, you've been there since the start, I don't know what I'd do without you now!”

“You'd be Listener,” said Cicero softly. “And a very good one. Delphine, she gave poor Cicero to understand that – that you turned her down because you missed your Fool of Hearts. She did not tell me...” Here he broke off, tears starting to fall. “She did not tell me you felt the same,” he managed to get out before letting out a sob. Turning away, he stood with his back to her, hands resting on the stone table and clenching into fists.

Delphine closed her eyes. He truly did notice everything. The worst thing was, she couldn't even deny it. Oh she had done for a long time, told herself she just admired Eola's skills or her bravery or her mind, just enjoyed Eola's company. Ignored the way Eola's smile made her heart flutter, or the way her Forsworn armour had shown her off, denied that she'd come up with the idea of an independent Reach for any reason other than that having a Reach-King in her debt was a useful thing indeed. Denied that the idea of Thongvor Silver-Blood groping Eola had sent her into a jealous rage. Right up until Eola had kissed her and she'd enjoyed it and wanted more. Oh, she wanted Eola in her bed alright. But not if the price was Cicero.

“Cicero, it's not like that,” she whispered. “I love you, I turned her down for you, it's you I want, please.”

“Don't give me that!” Cicero cried, sounding agonised. “Cicero has eyes! He saw! He remembers how you told him you butchered an entire Thalmor death squad when they killed Hoag, he saw it again today. When the Stone-Fist cut her down and you... you cut him to pieces. Astrid had to drag you away. Cicero saw, Listener. And when Cicero brought Eola back here – he saw the way you looked at her. Like you looked at him after the battle in the Ragged Flagon. Cicero knows you, Delphine. He knows.”

“Cicero, please,” Delphine whispered. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – you were gone and she was there.”

“Cicero thinks there has been something there between you for rather longer than that,” he said roughly.

Delphine couldn't deny it. “What are you going to do?” she asked. _Please don't leave me, please, I love you, don't..._

“I don't know,” said Cicero. “Just tell me the truth.” He did finally look up then, tears on his cheeks, haunted look in his eyes. “Do you love her?”

Delphine closed her eyes, feeling her heart breaking. She couldn't lie to him though. She owed him the truth.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Yes, I love her. Cicero, I'm sorry, please don't go, you're my Keeper, I love you, please!” He'd placed his hand over his eyes, shaking all over as he let out another sob.

“Thank you for telling me at least,” he finally whispered. “Cicero understands. He shall go now. You won't see me again.”

“Cicero!” she cried. No, no, not like this, he'd been back for four hours if that, she wasn't letting him go without a fight. “No, damn you, you're my Keeper, you said you would be, I'm ordering you as Listener, _stay with me!_ ” She grabbed him by the shoulders, giving him a little shake. He looked up, eyes blazing.

“How can I?” he cried. “The Keeper of the Listener's job is to serve his Listener and make her happy! Well, Eola makes you happy! Eola makes you happy and Cicero is in the way!”

“You're not!” Delphine cried out, not even caring about the tears on her own cheeks. “You're not, how can you say that, I'm falling apart at the thought of you leaving. I'm sorry, please, don't go, I'll send Eola away to Dawnstar or Windhelm, you won't have to worry about me being tempted. It's you I want, Cicero. Please believe me.”

“Don't send her away,” said Cicero softly. “Cicero would miss her.”

“So would I,” said Delphine. “But for you, I'd do it.” She closed her eyes, hating herself, trying desperately to ignore the voice inside screaming at being forced to choose.

“Don't,” she heard Cicero whisper, sounding absolutely miserable. “Sweetling, don't. I hate seeing you like this. My lovely, I will stay if you order it, but I can't... oh Listener, this is impossible! If Cicero goes, Delphine is miserable. If Cicero stays, he won't be able to have Eola around because Delphine will be miserable at not being able to have her. Maybe she will be miserable anyway. Eola certainly will be. Cicero doesn't like seeing her unhappy either.”

“I'm sorry,” said Delphine, reaching out and pulling him into her arms. He didn't resist, sliding his arms around her and nestling into her shoulder like always. He felt so very right, and Delphine couldn't let him go, she just couldn't. But her mind kept flitting back to Eola, a memory of being pushed back into her chair, strong young arms and legs around her, those beautiful breasts near her face and then Eola's lips on hers. Damn if she didn't want more of that. The prospect of having an attractive young woman wanting her and not being able to do anything about it hurt.

“I wish I could have you both,” she said softly. “But I can't, and if I have to choose, well, you need me more.”

Cicero hugged her back, saying nothing for a few moments. Then he let her go.

“Cicero is still your Keeper, yes?” he said. Delphine nodded, wondering where this was going. He was looking very thoughtful.

“And... Delphine does not object to Cicero entertaining himself with Lucien now and then when you are otherwise engaged?”

“Be a bit hypocritical of me, wouldn't it now?” said Delphine. “Sure, if I'm not around, go ahead but my orders take priority, understand?”

“Understood,” said Cicero, a smile beginning to form. “Cicero wants a wedding. Soon. Proper wedding, legally binding, flowers, rings, all the Brotherhood in attendance – maybe not Odahviing – but everyone else. Nice reception with the mead flowing. Cicero as Delphine's lawful wedded husband, yes?”

“That's what I had in mind,” said Delphine. “Cicero, where is this going?”

“Come with me, Listener!” Cicero trilled, suddenly cheerful again. Sliding behind her, he opened the door and skipped out into the corridor, humming tunelessly to himself. Delphine followed, not surprised to see him make straight for the private room Eola had been given. 

“Hussy, wake up!” he cried, flinging the door open. Eola looked up wearily.

“What?” she snapped. “I'm wounded! Let me sleep!”

“No no, this cannot wait. This is a matter of dire importance!” Cicero cried. “Listener, come here.”

“Eola, I'm really quite sorry about this,” Delphine said as Cicero hauled her into the room, making her sit by Eola's bed.

“That's quite alright, I know he's insane,” Eola sighed. “If Bothela comes back and finds you both here disturbing my rest, she's going to give you quite the piece of her mind, you know.”

“Cicero is perfectly sane!” said Cicero firmly. “But he is not staying, no. He is leaving in a moment. He...” Cicero faltered, then he walked forward, took Delphine's hand in his and then Eola's in his other hand.

“Understand this well, sister,” he said sternly to Eola. “Cicero is marrying the Listener and serving as her Keeper.” Then he smiled at her. “But Cicero does not think he would be here today or have a Listener at all without you. So seeing as you apparently love the Listener and the Listener loves you too... Cicero can share. Don't hurt her.” Taking a deep breath, he placed Eola's hand in Delphine's and folded their fingers over each other before letting go and walking out while both women were too shocked to react. The door clanged shut behind him as he made his way out.

“Did that just happen?” Eola asked, trying to reconcile that gesture with the look in Cicero's eyes in Dawnstar as he'd screamed and tried to stab her.

“I think so, yes,” said Delphine, still trying to wrap her head around what had just transpired. “Eola, I'm really sorry, I appreciate this is all rather sudden and you honestly don't have to go along with this if you don't want-”

“Do you want?” Eola asked, tracing her fingers up Delphine's arm, and suddenly Delphine began to feel like she was wearing far too many clothes.

“Talos, yes,” Delphine gasped. 

“Then stop talking and come here,” Eola laughed, reaching up and pulling Delphine down for a kiss. Delphine gasped and then gave in as Eola proved herself to be an excellent kisser. Not only that, it turned out that under the bed fur, Eola was naked, her armour off being mended. 

“Sweet Sithis,” Delphine breathed, transfixed by the sight of Eola's nipples hardening before her eyes.

“Never mind me, get that damn armour off,” Eola growled in Delphine's ear. Delphine started removing the gauntlets, or at least she did until she heard the scream from the bar.

“MOTHER!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING??? GET AWAY FROM HIM AT ONCE!”

“Mother?” Delphine asked, alarmed and preparing to leave in order to find out just what Cicero was up to now.

“The lady Legionnaire ghost is his ma,” said Eola. “Weird, no?”

“He's got a mother,” said Delphine faintly. “Oh Talos, does that mean I've got a mother-in-law?”

“Afraid so,” Eola smirked. “Good thing you took care of that problem on my side – there's still Da but he's a big softy really and he likes you.”

“Oh don't be ridiculous, Cicero,” a cut-glass Imperial City accent floated down the corridor towards them. “Your friend here is perfectly charming. Why, he's been a complete gentleman the entire time.”

“HE IS NOT A GENTLEMAN, HE IS A BAD BAD MAN! LUCIEN, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED NEAR MY MOTHER!!! CICERO FORBIDS IT!”

“Oh dear,” Delphine whispered, barely able to contain her giggles. “Do you think I should go out there and sort it out?”

“No,” said Eola firmly. “They're his spectral bodyguards, he can deal with them. Now get down here, I'm ill and in dire need of a Listener's mouth on my nipple.”

Now that was something Delphine could happily assist with. Shedding her Blades armour, she rolled Eola on to her back and finally gave in to temptation, moaning softly as she lavished Eola's breasts with kisses, sliding a thigh in between the other woman's legs and letting the world outside in general and a high-strung jester with mother issues in particular deal with its own problems.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was about an hour later when Delphine finally re-emerged, rearranging her armour and retying her hair. Eola had still been weak and not up for a lot but determined to make up for lost time, hauling Delphine on top of her and fingering, sucking and licking until she'd got her Listener off. Delphine had just cuddled her back, a little afraid to do too much to someone who was still weakened, but Eola hadn't seemed to mind. Soon she'd drifted off to sleep, so Delphine had tucked her up in bed and left her to it. Time to find out how Cicero was doing.

She found him outside the inn, leaning in the doorway. The bombardment had stopped, the sounds of battle finally over. The silence was eerie. Various casualties were still being brought in to the inn, and the clean-up job had already started, but the city itself wasn't looking too bad. Dwemer construction stood up to all sorts. Odahviing could be seen perching on top of the Temple of Dibella, dozing in the sun, and Delphine suspected her other two assassins had found a private corner somewhere to do a little celebrating of their own. But right now, her main concern was the man in front of her.

“Cicero,” she said softly. “How are you doing?”

He just smiled sadly, leaning up and kissing her on the cheek. 

“Adjusting,” was all he said. “You are still my Listener?”

“Yes,” said Delphine, putting an arm around him. “Always.”

Cicero snuggled up against her, looking a little happier at this.

“Good,” he breathed. “Cicero is sorry, Listener. He was angry at Eola when she first told him because he was scared that her and you falling in love would mean Cicero had no Listener any more, and she knew, she knew I adore you. Then Eola told him you'd said no, and that was better because at least it meant Cicero had hope, and then you took me back and Cicero was the happiest fool alive. But he didn't know you loved her too and he can't stand in the way of you being happy, he can't. So he won't. Eola doesn't need to worry, Cicero won't hurt her. He loves his sister too, not like he loves you, Listener, but she is very dear to him.”

“I should hope so,” said Delphine, feeling a cold shiver down her spine at the thought of anything hurting Eola. “You raise a knife to her again, and unless there's a damn good explanation, you're out, no arguments.”

Cicero whimpered, clinging on to her. “No, Listener, never, Listener!” he cried. “Cicero would never harm her!”

“You'd better not,” Delphine said sternly. “As it is, you're still in trouble. She may have forgiven you, I personally think you need reminding of your place.”

Cicero nodded quickly. “Yes, yes, Cicero needs reminding,” he whispered. “He's been all alone without his Listener's guidance for too long, too long! Cicero fears he's in dire need of stern corrective measures. Lucien is skilled but he was never a Listener.”

“You've been with Lucien since you were gone?” said Delphine, narrowing her eyes. “You little hypocrite!”

“It is not the same!” Cicero cried. “Cicero does not love Lucien, and even if he did, he is still the Listener's! You know that, Delphine!”

Delphine moved, pinning him up against the stone wall of the inn so she could whisper in his ear.

“I think I'm going to need a little demonstration of that,” she murmured. “And when we get back to the Sanctuary, you will be going to our little playroom, undressing and waiting for me on your knees. When I'm ready, I will find you, and then you are going to learn just whose you are, Cicero.”

“Yours, yours, I'm yours!” Cicero gasped, squirming against her. She could feel him through his armour, hard and yearning for her. Gods, she'd missed him. Yes, it had been very nice indeed having Eola's fingers in her cunt and her mouth on her breasts, but she had a feeling Eola would never be quite this yielding, never crave the pain and subservience Cicero did. _Congratulations, Cicero, I think you might be more perverted than the priestess of Namira is._

“Excellent,” Delphine breathed. “Because you're going to get a very solid reminder of that fact when I string you up and get the cat o' nine tails out.”

Cicero actually sobbed a little at that. “That one really hurts!” he whimpered.

“I know,” Delphine whispered, nipping his ear. “But you need it, because you've been a very bad boy, disappearing like that. If I'm to have you under my command, then you need to understand the consequences of displeasing me, wouldn't you say?”

Cicero nodded tearfully. “Yes, Listener. Thank you, Listener. You are too good to your humble fool, Listener.”

“Far too good,” Delphine murmured. “Once I'm convinced you're feeling properly ashamed of yourself, then, Dragonborn, I think I might take you to my bed and enjoy you. Does that sound appealing?”

“Yes,” Cicero gasped. “Oh yes. Sithis, Delphine, I've missed you.”

“I missed you too,” said Delphine softly. She kissed him full on the lips, gently at first but then increasingly deeply as she ground up against him, feeling him writhing beneath her. She lost herself in the feel of it, of Cicero's lips under hers once more and her arms around him. She'd missed this.

Finally, she let him go, smiling. There was a long road ahead of them, she had no idea where she and Eola were going to end up, and who knew what the future held. It would be fun finding out though.

She glanced around, noticing a strange lack of spectral bodyguards.

“So where is Lucien then? And you've gained the ability to summon your mother from the dead?”

Cicero nodded, grinning. “Cicero's mother _was_ Dragonborn! And she died a warrior's death and got to go to Sovngarde! Cicero saw her there and fought Alduin with her, and she looked after him and...” The smile faded as he sniffled at the memory. “Cicero cried when he saw her again. Cicero loved her so very much and still does. But he couldn't stay in Sovngarde, and Mama couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her Cicero again. So she made a new Thu'um for me to use that would call her back. I can use it if I need her to fight for me or just to talk. It doesn't last that long, just an hour or so, but that is more than Cicero has had in thirty years nearly. Only Cicero needs to be careful not to summon her while Lucien is around. After Cicero left you with Eola, he walked in on the vile pervert _kissing her hand!!_ ” Cicero looked furious at the mere idea.

“Cicero, he has done a lot worse than that to you and me both,” Delphine felt obliged to point out.

“Yes,” Cicero hissed. “ _I know._ Which is why Cicero sent the disgusting philanderer back to the Void and will not be summoning the two of them together ever again.” He shivered viscerally at the mere idea of Lucien and Stelmaria together. Delphine could see why, to be fair to him.

“Am I going to get to meet her?” Delphine asked, part hopeful, part very nervous indeed. Cicero grinned.

“Of course! SOS FRON DAAL!”

The air shimmered silver and then Stelmaria Di Rosso stepped back into the world, looking about her and nodding in satisfaction to see Markarth quiet and the battle apparently over. Her eyes fell on Delphine and hardened a little, but they didn't get any softer when they passed over Cicero.

“Cicero!” she said sternly. “You stabbed that poor man! And he was meant to be your friend!”

“Do not feel sorry for him!” Cicero cried. “I assure you, he very rarely feels sorry about anything!”

“He was being perfectly sweet and harmlessly talking to me, there was no need for you to leap on his back and stick your daggers in him! Certainly not fifteen times anyway.”

Delphine just about managed to stifle a laugh. Only fifteen times – Cicero had been holding back then.

“Mother, he is Lucien Lachance, Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood, he is not sweet or harmless!” Cicero sighed, throwing up his arms in despair.

“Well, I liked him,” said Stelmaria, huffing.

“He's a murderer!” Cicero cried.

“So are you, and I still love you,” said Stelmaria as if that sealed it, and honestly Cicero had no real comeback for that one, so he beckoned Delphine forward.

“Mother, this is the Listener, sweet Delphine,” he said hesitantly. “Delphine... this is my mother. Stelmaria.”

Stelmaria regarded Delphine coolly and Delphine began to feel rather uncomfortable. Cicero's eyes most definitely and a hint of that same cruelty, but far more focused and saner, none of the frivolity that made Cicero so loveable. 

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Stelmaria,” said Delphine. “I've heard so much about you.”

“From my son or my Blades file?” said Stelmaria coldly. “Yes, I've heard of you, Blademistress. Couldn't get me so you went for my son instead, I see.”

Blademistress? Only one man had ever called her that. She felt a lump in her throat forming at the memory of Hoag.

“Hoag's in Sovngarde?” Thank the gods, she'd always worried and wondered if he'd made it. Good to know Shor had him safe.

“He is,” said Stelmaria, her face softening a little. “He speaks well of you, Delphine. It's a pity you'll never come here. But then again, I don't think Cicero will see Shor's Hall again either, so I suppose it's a good thing he has someone to take care of him.”

Delphine put an arm around Cicero, guessing this was as close to approval as she was going to get. He nestled into her, arms going around her waist.

“The Listener always takes good care of me, Mama,” he said. “And soon she's going to marry me, and Cicero will be the happiest man in Skyrim.” He sighed happily, soppy gaze turned on Delphine as he kissed her cheek. Delphine stroked his hair and looked back at Stelmaria. The other woman was smiling.

“Not just after him for the dragon blood then. That's good. I had wondered.”

“It was never entirely just about the blood,” Delphine told her. No, even despite the madness, he'd had a certain charm to him from the day they'd first met. “I'd have helped any Dragonborn. Don't think I'd have fallen in love with one who wasn't Cicero.”

That was a definite smirk on Cicero's face, but as Delphine had every intention of smacking it out of him later, it didn't bother her. Stelmaria just nodded, apparently content with that.

“He could do worse, I suppose,” she said, only a little grudgingly. “Treat him well and take care of him, Delphine. Talos knows he needs it.”

“I will,” Delphine promised, very aware that Cicero was not just cuddling her now, he was actually purring. It was cute but very distracting. Apparently getting the maternal seal of approval had unlocked whole new vistas of opportunity for Cicero to lavish affection.

Fortunately for her, things were prevented from getting any more uncomfortable by the sound of a fanfare of trumpets from outside the walls. General Tullius had arrived, it seemed.

“Cicero, get Eola,” said Delphine. “I think she'll want to witness this.”

Cicero disappeared, Stelmaria in tow, and soon returned with Eola draped over him, dressed in a borrowed set of Forsworn gear. Delphine felt her heart skip a beat to see her, although she also wondered if this had been a good idea, getting her out of bed. Still, she'd only ever get to see her father sign a historic peace treaty once. 

“Del!” Eola cried, smiling to see her, trying to disentangle herself from Cicero and nearly collapsing. Delphine made her way over and took her other arm.

“I told you you were not well enough,” Cicero sighed. “You should have stayed in bed!”

“Tough, I want to see it,” said Eola firmly. “Not every day your da gets to be king. Stelmaria, if Cicero got crowned as king, you'd want to be there, wouldn't you?”

“Should that ever happen, I expect to be there or Cicero is in a great deal of trouble,” said Stelmaria, falling in behind them. “Of course, I'm not sure Cicero would really want to be king of anywhere.”

Cicero shook his head, shuddering at the very thought. “Oh no, dearest Mama. Cicero is quite happy being a simple fool.”

The Reach-King himself had by this time emerged, cleaned up and his Forsworn armour exchanged for a set of fine clothes that had once been Thongvor Silver-Blood's. Kaie was helping him put the final touches to his outfit while Nepos looked on.

“There you go, Da,” said Kaie, brimming with pride in her father. “You look like the Emperor himself.”

“Hopefully before the Matriarch stabbed him,” Madanach laughed. “Nepos, old friend, will I do?”

“You'll do perfectly, Madanach,” Nepos assured him. “Although I feel I should point out the Lady Elisif is unlikely to be there herself.”

“Yes, well, maybe I'm practising for when she is,” said Madanach. “All right, let's get this over with. Delphine, are you with me? Cicero? Eola – Eola, why are you out of bed? You had to be carried in here.”

“I'm coming with you!” said Eola firmly. “Don't try and stop me!”

“We'll look after her,” Delphine promised. “You go and get yourself a kingdom.”

Madanach nodded, adjusting his circlet one last time and calling to the Forsworn on the gate. Delphine noticed with some surprise that it wasn't just natives of the Reach up there – there were a few Nords who'd been helping with the city defence too. Markarth was changing already, it seemed.

Slowly, the great gates swung open. Outside was another army camped outside, a force of red and brown and iron with the familiar Dragon banners on display. At the front, Delphine could see Tullius and Rikke waiting.

“Let's get this over with,” said Madanach quietly, before shaking his shoulders, lifting his head high, daughters, Dragonborn and the Dark Brotherhood's Listener all falling in behind him, and went out to make history.


	38. Epilogue: Cicero's Journal, Volume Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all the dust settles, and Cicero embarks on a new phase of his life, he decides it's time to restart his journal...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, readers. The epilogue. OMG where has the time gone, it seems like only yesterday Cicero was standing by the road swearing at his broken down cart and then turning to see a dragon staring at him. Now look at him. I'm so proud.

_25th Morning Star 4E 202_

_So seeing as the Listener found the old volumes, Cicero had best start his journal afresh, hmm? The others are hidden now, in a safer, better hiding place, far from prying Listeners and sisters and anyone else who might want to know what the Fool of Hearts is up to._

_Where to begin? So much has happened! Cicero lost the Listener but got her back. Alduin is dead. The Dark Brotherhood killed an Emperor! We also killed Ulfric Stormcloak, ended the Skyrim Civil War and got dear Eola's father a kingdom. I've already told the story many times, Esbern in particular was most keen to have all the details. Apparently the Blades of old had only two people who knew all the secrets of the order, the Grand Master and the Chronicler. Apparently Esbern's now the Blades Chronicler and the Brotherhood's too. He seemed a bit too interested in the gory details, but Cicero understands. We'll make an assassin out of him yet._

_Speaking of which, the Aretino child's training is coming along nicely too. He can sneak almost as well as me now. Worrying, frankly. Nearly as tall as me too. All the same, he's doing well. I'm rather proud of him._

_Delphine named me her Keeper and a week after New Life Day, she kept her word and took me to Riften to be wed. Humble Cicero is married. I can barely believe it, but I have the ring still. It's there, heavy on my finger, a constant reminder that I'm someone's. I... I'm the Listener's husband. At some point, I may get used to this, but for now, not a day goes by when I don't thank the Night Mother for my good fortune. When I think of how my life has changed in only a few short months... I look back and sometimes I'm not even sure I'm the same man. Eola says I've not changed that much though, and Delphine just tells me we're all changing together. As long as it brings me nearer to her, not further away, Cicero is content._

_We went back to Cyrodiil for our honeymoon. Odahviing flew us down to Cheydinhal, and I showed my Listener the Sanctuary there. It was very dusty and a little run-down, but liveable. Smaller and darker than I remember it. I showed her the torture room Andronica and I used to use. We didn't use it ourselves, it didn't feel right, but she thanked me for bringing her there._

_She liked the library. She liked it very much indeed. So much old Brotherhood lore there! And Rasha's office with all sorts of interesting documents and contacts. Cicero never bothered with them, he could never leave Mother before, but the Listener found much of interest. We ended up taking half of it back with us, and I have a feeling that Aranea and her Butcher and her Thief may be paying the place a visit to fetch the rest. Delphine says that one day, when we have more people, she might re-open it. Cicero would like that. He does not think he will go back there, not to live. Too painful. But it is one of the oldest of our Sanctuaries and to have it in use again would be only fitting._

_Cyrodiil is calmer now – Tullius took the Legion home, was welcomed as a saviour and has taken over as interim governor until the Elder Council can choose a new Emperor. Cicero thinks he can guess who that will be._

_Skyrim is also at peace now – the Moot met, chose Elisif as Queen, and she's signed a treaty with Madanach as promised. There's been some grumbling but so far no real trouble. The announcement of her engagement caused rather more discontent, mostly from heartbroken men in taverns bewailing their misfortune at getting overlooked. Still, Delphine is keeping an ear to the ground for any plots against either of them. Can't have amateurs getting in on the assassination game, can we now?_

_The wedding is to be held in Second Seed. We're providing the security arrangements. Madanach said he wanted the experts co-ordinating it all. First time Cicero has ever been hired to prevent assassinations, but the money is good and we do after all know how to think like assassins._

_Cicero is going to be a guest of honour! Delphine will be busy keeping out of sight and watching for trouble, and Eola has to be there in her role as daughter of the groom and she needs someone to have on her arm to ward off suitors. Apparently princesses are not allowed to stab unwanted admirers, certainly not at their father's wedding anyway, so she wants me there to scare them off. Heh. That is easy, all they have to do is get to know her, that will send most of them running._

_Eola. Dear Eola. Dear Listener-borrowing Eola. So far she has yet to break the Listener's heart or even really upset her. I suppose this is probably a good thing. We have an arrangement – Morndas, Middas and Fredas are Eola's nights in her bed. Tirdas, Turdas and Loredas are mine. Sundas we both join her. We don't do anything terribly carnal beyond cuddle and kiss and talk when it's all three of us. Delphine just likes having us both around. We're good company apparently. It was a little awkward at first and Cicero is still not used to it. But Delphine emerges after her nights with Eola looking so happy and radiant that I know I made the right choice. Eola and I were a little uncertain about how to act around each other at first, but then she stole my hat and ran off with it and I called her names which I will not repeat here but which did incur the Listener's wrath, so all is back to normal._

_Cicero does now have his own room, although he's not in it very much, only on Eola's Listener nights. It gets lonely. But that is why he has Lucien. Cicero's very fond of Lucien. Lucien's very patient with Cicero too. Not kind, no, Lucien Lachance does not do kindness. Lucien does brutality and fierceness. He lets poor Cicero cuddle him though. I told him it was good to be disciplined by someone who didn't love me. Delphine is strong and firm with me, but she also treasures me as her Keeper so it's rare that I'm ever in true fear of her. Lucien on the other hand is terrifying and Cicero loves it. I told him all this and he looked at me very strangely and asked if that was really how I wanted it to be. Well, yes, why wouldn't I? I could have sworn this made him a little bit sad, but Lucien doesn't do sadness, surely?_

_I still tend to the Night Mother, usually on Fredas while the Listener's busy with Eola. Possibly not for much longer though. Delphine thinks my time could be better spent serving Mother in other ways, and so she has Aranea and the Butcher researching. Apparently they both went on some adventure to Winterhold and came back with the Oghma Infinium in their heads, and what with the Keeping Tomes and the various books from Cheydinhal and the money from killing Ulfric, they think they can build Mother a new crypt. A new Shrouded Chapel, so I won't need to maintain her any more. I don't entirely know how to react. I've been Mother's Keeper for so long, the idea of not being is a little strange. But the Brotherhood has changed and so have I. If the Listener thinks this is a good idea, then so be it. She says there'll be a cage keeping the unworthy from handling Mother and only she and I will have keys. If I want, I can still tend the shrine, keep the candles lit and flowers seen to. I will, of course I will. I'll probably train the Aretino child to help though._

_Talking of shrines, Madanach has clearly not forgotten his friends. He cannot exactly make our work legal, but when he and Nepos drafted the Reach's new legal code, they conveniently forgot to add in any laws making it illegal to belong to the Dark Brotherhood or to contact them. If any of us get caught killing someone, we'll still be arrested for murder, but we don't have to hide who we are. Better – we can advertise. Madanach had the Shrine to Talos removed from Markarth and replaced it with a Temple to the old gods. The Shrine's old room is now dedicated to Anu and an abandoned residence called Vlindrel Hall is now a Temple to Sithis. I am stunned, honoured and touched, and even Delphine forgave him for the Talos Shrine removal after hearing that. Nice Muiri from the Hag's Cure has moved in to act as a permanent Temple attendant and vendor of various alchemical delights, and Madanach's assigned the place a guard of its own to ensure no one causes any trouble. It's unlikely they would, but one never knows. He is called Argis the Bulwark and while he's a Nord, his father was a Reachman so he knows the old gods as well as the Eight. Eola and I take it in turns to visit twice a week each, partly to ensure the place is in good shape and partly to have informal chats with interested visitors. And if said interested visitors wish to enquire about how much it might cost to have us bring the good news about Sithis to certain of the uninitiated, or to make sizeable donations to the Temple as a way of ensuring Sithis takes care of the soul of someone recently departed, or indeed wishes to offer their services as a sworn servant of Sithis themselves, well, that is all to the good._

_Delphine's placed me in charge of vetting new recruits. Me! Apparently if they're not put off by me, she thinks they'll fit right in. I'm not sure what she means by that, but it does mean that when someone asks about joining at the Temple, or the Night Mother whispers their name in Delphine's ear or they come to our notice some other way, I am to find them, assess their suitability and give them a test contract then bring them to the Sanctuary if they pass. Delphine says that seeing as I'm probably going to keep turning up with waifs and strays anyway, I may as well be the official recruiter. Heh. Cicero likes this idea._

_Harlot Astrid of course still does her own recruiting, but she's been no problem. She was positively friendly when Cicero last saw her at his wedding. Cicero doesn't trust her, doesn't really like anyone at that Sanctuary other than the unchild. But still, we don't get to choose our Family._

_Talking of family, Cicero has his own again. I can summon my blood mother from Sovngarde with a Shout. Of all the things to happen, save only marrying the Listener, I think that's the best thing to happen to me personally. I've missed her. Once a week, for one hour, sometimes a little more often if I'm feeling lonely, I call her to talk. It is so good to have her here, even if she and Delphine aren't so comfortable around each other. Mama thinks the Listener is more interested in my dragon blood than me, and I'm not sure Delphine likes having people around she can't give orders to, but they've managed not to argue. Cicero is pleased with this._

_Cicero is less pleased with Lucien's shameful advances to his dear Mama. The man has no decorum._

_Cicero has tried learning Shouts from his mother, but without success. He hears the words but can't feel them. So he visited Arngeir to ask, and learnt that Shouts can either be read or learnt from another, but only if that other can actually breathe. How very frustrating. Fortunately Arngeir is a kind man and told me that he and his brothers can hear where the Word Walls are. There's one in a place called Valthume not far from here, and another in Volunruud. If I can find those, Arngeir will point me in the direction of more. Cicero is very pleased to hear this, very pleased indeed. He had thought his adventuring days over, but it appears there are more to be had!_

_Cicero's life is not a bad one, all in all. He's happy. He's not been happy in a long time. Humble Cicero does not expect or want a lot out of life. He doesn't need wealth or fame or power. Just friends and family and things to stab. Odahviing thinks I should be a little more ambitious, but I'm already married to the Listener. What have I got to aim for, really? Not much more._

_Tomorrow, Odahviing and I are taking a surprise trip to Cheydinhal. Need to get Delphine some flowers. Pretty, pretty flowers! She likes roses but Skyrim's too cold for them. So Cicero's going to Cyrodiil to find some for her. Sapphire suggested covering the bed in rose petals for her, so Cicero's going to try that. And if he's really lucky, Delphine might get creative with the thorns..._

_Cicero's a lucky fool. A very lucky fool indeed. I don't know what the future will bring, but this I do know – I have my Family back. I lost them once, I'm not losing them again. It is my sworn vow to do all in my power to ensure we stay together and stay strong. United, the Dark Brotherhood can do anything. Night Mother willing, we will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: THAT'S IT! Oh my god, I can't believe it's all over. This was a story that begged to be written the moment I read the prompt, and it took on a life of its own and took over my life until I finished it. Now it's done, and I will miss it.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it - thank you all of you who left comments, they were a delight to read. I am thinking of sequels, so this is not necessarily the last we have seen of Cicero Dragonborn. Keep an eye on AO3, also the Cicero Fan Club on Deviant Art.


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